What's Past is Past
by am4ever
Summary: **Updated: 11/30/2016- NEW Chapter 19 added!** Why was it that Matthew Crawley was an only child?
1. Chapter 1

_The Past_

"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago."  
― Friedrich Nietzsche

Exhaustion….

Pure and complete exhaustion….

Isobel Crawley sank on to her bed, feeling each of her sixty some years as she bent over to pull off her shoes. Not bothering to change, she pulled her legs on to the bed and curled up under a large quilt.

Blissful peace and quiet…it had evaded her for a week…a full week since her only son had been killed. Had it been that long already? She couldn't be sure…time held no meaning any longer. How she longed for a night free from memories, free from worry and free from fear.

But such relief for Isobel Crawley would not come...not tonight nor any night soon.

* * *

_December, 1900_

"Matthew…Matthew , where are you?"

Isobel was bustling about in the entryway, gathering her gloves and bag for another long day at the hospital. She wished she did not have to leave her son, seeing as though his break over the holiday was only a few weeks long. But, he did enjoy being alone to read or work on a project for school while she was away.

"Coming, Mother!"

The fifteen year old young man quickly hurried down the stairs, running up to kiss his mother on the cheek.

"Are you going to the hospital?"

"Yes, dear. Make sure to bundle up if you go out today…they say it may storm. And do heed what Mrs. Bingham says, all right?"

"Yes, Mother. Will I see you tonight?"

Isobel smiled sadly and kissed her son's cheek. "I will do my best to make it home in time to say good night."

Matthew understood how hard his mother had to work to accommodate for those nurses who were caring for their injured husbands or had left the hospital after the loss of someone in the war. He hated how she was gone so often…but he knew she was doing it for the greater good which he admired her for immensely.

"Have a good day…and don't forget to tell Dr. Carrington about Father!"

Isobel chuckled as the boy hurried off to the library, all but likely to find another novel to immerse himself in. She called goodbye to both he and Mrs. Bingham before closing the door behind her for a short journey to the hospital. She walked quickly, hoping to make it there before the winds chilled her through. The atmosphere around Manchester was gloomy enough without adding a snow storm to the mix.

* * *

"Nurse Crawley, might I see you a moment?"

"Of course. I'll be right back," Isobel said with a smile to the young man lying beside her. The soldier nodded, thanking Mrs. Crawley for her help in writing a letter to his mother. She patted his shoulder before following the elderly Dr. Carrington to his office.

"Please have a seat, Nurse…Isobel," he corrected, smiling and motioning for her to take a seat. The Carrington's and Crawley's were old family friends. Dr. Carrington had trained Isobel's husband, Dr. Reginald Crawley, after he had graduated medical school. It pleased him to know he could keep an eye on Isobel while Reginald was off fighting in the Boer Conflict.

"How do you feel the other nurses are doing, Isobel? Are they overwhelmed?" Dr. Carrington asked, taking a seat and folding his hands on the desk.

"Oh, I wouldn't say so. I find we are running very well. The field hospitals have helped decrease the number of wounded we receive every day."

"Good. Very good. I value your opinion," he said with a smile. Her cheeks tinged a bit pink at the recognition, and she looked down at her hands. "Have you heard from Reginald?"

Her head popped up revealing a large smile. "Yes…we just had a letter yesterday. Matthew reminded me to tell you this morning but I hadn't thought of it before now."

"Good news, I presume?"

"Very. They have received his credentials and have asked that he be transferred to a field hospital commission," she said, her voice quivering with relief.

Dr. Carrington stood, coming around to take both of her hands in his. "What wonderful news! Molly will be so pleased….she worried so when she heard he was put on the front line."

Isobel nodded, knowing words would only bring tears if she dare speak just now. Dr. Carrington squeezed her hands once more before stepping back.

"Do send him our best wishes when you write next."

Isobel stood and thanked him. "I will be sure Matthew puts in a note. He insists on writing for both of us now that he is home from school."

"He is becoming quite the man of the house with Reginald away," Dr. Carrington replied, leading her to the door.

"Yes…it's hard to believe he is already fifteen."

"Unfortunately for parents, all children must grow up," he said, opening the door and ushering her back in to the hall.

"Quite true. Was there anything else, Doctor?"

"Yes….since the nursing staff seems to have things under control, why don't you head off a bit early?"

"Oh but…"

Dr. Carrington held up a hand. "Now, now…it is not often I can allow it, but seeing as though Matthew is only home for another week, I think it would be the perfect opportunity, don't you?"

Isobel looked down once more, a smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Doctor. But you're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! And besides, it is Christmas Eve."

Her smile quickly dropped. "My goodness, I hadn't even remembered…"

The doctor chuckled. "I daresay the days do tend to run together. Now, go home, Nurse Crawley. I don't expect to see you back here for another two days. That son of yours will surely want your attention."

"Yes…thank you ever so much, Dr. Carrington," Isobel replied, a glimmer of tears in her eyes. He waved as she gathered her coat, hat and bag from the nearest peg and left the hospital. There was a new joy in her step, one that Dr. Carrington surmised would only continue once she made it home…

…For she was not the only one who had received a recent letter from Dr. Reginald Crawley.


	2. Chapter 2

"It is good to see you home, ma'am," Mrs. Bingham said, helping Isobel off with her coat. "Mr. Matthew was quite worried about your walking home with the snow falling as it is."

"Dr. Carrington was kind and let me off a bit early. Where is Matthew?" she asked, thrilled that she would finally be able to spend a few hours with him instead of a quick kiss good night.

"In the library, ma'am. But he asked that you knock first."

"Knock?" Isobel turned from brushing snow out of her hair to study the cook. "Why on Earth…?"

The cook chuckled. "A small surprise he has for you. I assured him I would relay his instructions. You're to knock and wait until he answers the door."

"Golly. I hope this is not something improper."

"I don't think so, ma'am," the cook replied, grinning from ear to ear. Isobel laughed softly at the look of pure excitement on the matronly cook's face.

"Well then, I'd best go knock."

As soon as Nurse Crawley walked away, the cook sighed contentedly and hurried back to her kitchen, set on making this Christmas feast something to remember.

* * *

Isobel stood outside the library, a bit perplexed as to what her son had been up to over the course of the day. It seemed odd having the doors closed…she had not known them to be so since she and Reginald moved to the home some twenty years before.

She knocked three times and waited, hearing rustling from inside the room.

"One moment!"

Grinning, she clasped her hands in front and waited patiently. It was in these moments she wished Reginald home…to see how grown up Matthew was but also how he could still act like their little boy from time to time. But knowing Reginald would be taken away from the thick of the fighting was peace enough for her to enjoy this moment without him by her side.

"Are you still there?" Matthew's voice asked from behind the door.

"Yes, I'm here. Might I come in?"

The door opened to reveal Matthew in his best suit, a large grin plastered across his face.

"You're home early!" he cried, moving forward to envelope her in a hug. It was odd having to look up at him for he was now at least four inches taller than she. But she appreciated his maturity even more knowing he still wished to surprise his mother as he had when he was young.

"Dr. Carrington was happy to leave me go early, saying he wished us a Happy Christmas."

"Did you tell him about Father?" he asked, pulling back to take both her hands in his.

"I did, and he was very glad about it," she answered, squeezing her son's fingers. "Now, am I allowed to sit and see what you have been up to today?"

Matthew looked over his shoulder quickly and then turned back to her. "Close your eyes."

"What?" Isobel asked, thinking she had heard him wrong.

"Please Mother…close your eyes! I want you to be surprised!"

Isobel sighed. "Very well. But you will have to lead me in…and no tricks!"

He laughed and agreed, waiting until her eyes were closed before gently urging her forward. She took a few steps cautiously, wondering whether or not he had picked up his books from the floor.

"Have you tidied up or shall I trip over something?" she asked with a grin.

"No, I've picked everything up. No peeking!" Matthew said, maneuvering Isobel around a large chair and table to stand in the center of the library. He stopped and dropped her hands.

"Might I open them now?" she asked sweetly.

"Not just yet," she heard him say, though he seemed a bit further away than before.

"Goodness, Matthew. This must be quite the surprise."

"Perhaps," he replied, now seeming a bit closer.

Isobel's hands were soon clasped between another pair, though these felt much larger than Matthew's. They were rough and worn where Matthew's were soft and smooth. And as confusion played out on her face, Matthew heard her gasp when his surprise suddenly spoke.

"Happy Christmas, my dear."

Her eyes flew open as her husband enveloped her in a hug, twirling her around in a circle, while Matthew laughed with delight. Reginald placed her feet on the floor once more, keeping hold of waist and leaning down to place a sweet kiss on her lips.

"Reginald, how did…."

"Are you surprised, Mother? He is home for a whole week!" Matthew exclaimed, moving forward to wrap his arms around both of his parents.

The pair smiled as their teen aged son seemed to become a boy once more, giddy with joy and grinning from ear to ear. Isobel leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek.

"I am very surprised," she said, sniffling back a few tears as she looked up to catch her husband gazing at her. "Very surprised indeed."


	3. Chapter 3

_Late February, 1901_

"I've set a letter on the desk in the drawing room for you, ma'am," Mrs. Bingham said after Isobel returned from an arduous double shift at the hospital. She took Isobel's coat to hang up, but upon turning, she noticed Nurse Crawley waver and grasp the hall table for support.

"Ma'am, you must get some rest. All of this work cannot be good for anyone's health. What would Dr. Crawley say about it?" Mrs. Bingham softly scolded, moving forward to wrap an arm around Isobel's shoulders. "Come now; let's get you settled so you can have a rest and a bite to eat."

Isobel smiled weakly at the cook. There were times she felt as though Mrs. Bingham had become a mother to her, she having lost her own so many years before. She appreciated the care Mrs. Bingham brought to the entire family, especially when she felt as badly as she did this evening.

"Thank you. But I think I'd rather head up...I'm a bit worn out," she confessed.

"Of course you are, dear. You go up and take as long a rest as you need. When you wake up, I'll run a hot bath for you."

Isobel nodded and moved towards the stairs, looking across to the drawing room. "Did the letter have a return address?"

Mrs. Bingham's smile replaced her look of concern as she nodded. "Yes ma'am. One moment…"

The cook bustled in to the drawing room and returned a moment later, holding out the letter for Isobel to take.

"From Mr. Matthew, ma'am," she said. Isobel's face brightened considerably as she took the letter.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bingham. Will you make sure I'm up at half past twelve? I've another shift to begin at two thirty."

"Of course, but shouldn't you…"

"It's all right. Nurse Hager received notice yesterday that her husband was lost in the fighting a week ago. I'm taking care of her shifts to give her some time away."

Mrs. Bingham took a step back and nodded sadly. "Of course, ma'am. Please let me know if there is anything I can do."

Isobel gripped the banister and started up the stairs. "Just pray this bloody war is soon over," she replied tiredly.

* * *

"I've had a letter from Reginald. He said their resources are lacking. I only wish I could send them something to help, but I'm afraid we are at a loss ourselves these days," Dr. Carrington said, turning to find Isobel sink in to the nearest chair. Concerned, he sat beside her and lowered his voice. "Nurse Crawley, are you quite all right?"

"Hm…oh, I'm so sorry, Doctor. I was miles away," she replied, straightening despite the constant ache in her back.

"You look done in. Why don't you head home and…?"

"Oh no, it's quite all right…Nurse Hager is off until next week. She was to cover the night shift tonight and tomorrow."

"And there is no one else who can take care of her duties?"

"Of course but…"

Isobel stopped as Dr. Carrington raised his eyebrows in challenge. "But what?"

"Many of the women have children still at home. With both Matthew and Reginald away, I find the house quite lonely. It is much easier for me to be here and allow the others time with their young ones."

Dr. Carrington nodded and sat back in his seat. "While your position is a logical one, I also know that you are working yourself to the bone. It is high time you took a day off, Nurse Crawley. Doctor's orders."

"Dr. Carrington, please…"

"Isobel, I mean it," he responded softly, yet with finality in his tone. Her eyes widened a bit but she heeded his instructions. Nodding under his stern gaze, she looked down and clasped her hands together in her lap.

"When shall I return, Doctor?"

"When you've had a full night's sleep. I'll send Molly over tomorrow to check on you. And I'm sure Mrs. Bingham will give a full report of your activities…so there is no reason to do more than rest, understood?"

Isobel again nodded and allowed a small smile for the concerned doctor. Dr. Carrington clapped his hands on his knees and pushed himself to stand.

"Very good. Now off you go," he said, offering her a hand.

She took it and stood, quickly realizing something was wrong. Her vision blurred while her head felt as though it were fifty pounds heavier. The experienced doctor acted immediately, placing his free hand on her back to steady her and tightly holding to her shaking hand.

"Isobel…what is it?" he asked.

"I'm fine….truly," she answered after a moment. Her vision began to focus once more and the dizziness soon faded. "I suppose I stood up too fast."

"Let me have someone take you home," he said, releasing his tight hold on her to see if she could stand steady. When she seemed to have her feet beneath her, he turned and waved over a young nurse.

"Nurse Hathoway, I want you to escort Nurse Crawley home. She is not well," he instructed.

"Of course, Dr. Carrington," the girl answered, coming to stand beside Isobel.

"Really, there is no need," Isobel began, only to be interrupted once more.

"There is every need," Dr. Carrington stated firmly, taking hold of Isobel's arm. "I mean it, Nurse Crawley. I want you to go home and rest."

Isobel seemed to deflate as she reluctantly agreed, allowing the young nurse to help her out of the hospital. Dr. Carrington watched the women leave, his arms crossed as he contemplated what was wrong with his Head Nurse. How he wished Reginald were here….for surely Dr. Crawley was the antidote needed to make his wife well again.


	4. Chapter 4

"She's just in the drawing room, ma'am. I'm afraid she was very ill this morning," Mrs. Bingham said quietly, helping Molly Carrington off with her coat.

"Oh dear…perhaps it is more than Dr. Carrington supposed yesterday afternoon. What symptoms, Mrs. Bingham?"

"The poor dear is very dizzy. I had to help her down here this morning because she refuses to stay in bed. And she hasn't eaten a bite…her stomach was quite upset earlier," the cook answered with a frown. "I do hope it's not influenza."

Molly smiled warmly at the nervous cook. "It's all right, Mrs. Bingham. We'll be sure to take care of her now. You have a rest, and I'll sit with her."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carrington. You're very kind."

Molly made her way to the drawing room and knocked lightly, pushing the door open all the way. Concern etched her features upon seeing Isobel Crawley with a large shawl covering her shoulders, asleep in a chair beside the fireplace. Never had Molly known Isobel to be ill…and they had been friends for years! With both Reginald and Matthew gone away, she hoped Isobel was not making herself sick by worrying over them.

She shut the door quietly and moved in to the room, touching Isobel lightly on the shoulder. Isobel's eyes quickly opened, darting back and forth across the room before resting on Molly.

"Molly…oh dear, I am so sorry!" Isobel exclaimed, moving to stand. Molly, however, had the upper hand and held Isobel in place.

"Now, now. My husband gave me strict instructions to make sure you were resting. I only woke you to see if there was anything I could do to help."

Isobel rolled her eyes and sighed. Molly couldn't help but smile as she took a seat across from Isobel on the settee.

"Your husband worries too much."

"While he is a doctor, I think his concern for you as a good friend is what brings me here today."

Isobel looked down, folding her hands in her lap. "I am perfectly fine. A bit tired, I'll admit, but fine otherwise."

Molly's left eyebrow rose, silently questioning Isobel's honesty.

"Molly…."

"My dear, I can tell you are done in. But what worries me most is Mrs. Bingham's report of your morning."

Isobel closed her eyes, wishing she had sworn the cook to secrecy. She should have known Dr. Carrington would hold true to his promise to send Molly over. And of course Mrs. Bingham would tell her how ill Isobel had been that morning.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Isobel replied quietly.

"And how long has this 'nothing' been bothering you?"

"Molly, really. I am overtired and run down….that is all."

"Have you heard from Reginald?"

A bit surprised at the sudden change of subject, Isobel allowed her eyes to meet Molly's. Her friend was smiling at her, and Isobel hoped the rest of their conversation moved away from her illness.

"Last week. He sent word that he was settled in at the field hospital and further away from the front. Though he couldn't tell me where specifically, of course."

Molly nodded. "Yes, of course. And Matthew, how is he?"

"He's doing well," Isobel answered, her face brightening. "He prefers his classes this term over last, so hopefully it will keep his mind occupied until his next break."

"And have you told him or Reginald how you are feeling?"

Isobel groaned. "Molly, please…there is no need to be so concerned."

"But I am," Molly replied, rising to stand beside Isobel's chair. "My dear…Harold has told me how much you are working. You cannot take it all on yourself. Do take a few days to catch up and let the other nurses handle things."

"They _are_ quite capable. But with so many having young children and their husbands either at war or working all day, I cannot see how it would be possible."

"But should you continue as you are, you'll be of no use to anyone!" Molly crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she fixed a stern glare on Isobel. "I think I best send Harold over to give you a full examination."

"What?" Isobel began…only to be interrupted by Mrs. Carrington once more.

"There was another time I remember your being like this. Overly anxious about taking care of Matthew and Reginald, working on another charity project, helping the ladies in the village…working too much and worrying so that you made yourself ill! Reginald almost went to pieces in Harold's office because he did not know what had come over you."

"You must be thinking of someone else," Isobel replied simply, crossing her arms to match Molly's stance.

Molly's eyes softened and she went silent for a moment, looking down with interest at the carpet. Isobel grew concerned when the woman did not refute her…rather uncharacteristic for Molly Carrington to back down. Uncrossing her arms, she reached over to touch Molly's hand gently.

"Molly…what is it?"

Clasping on to Isobel's hand, Molly looked up with tears in her eyes.

"Isobel...I cannot blame you for wanting to forget…but you _must_ remember that this has happened before."

Isobel was perplexed; honestly unaware of what notion Molly had in her head. Molly put her other hand over Isobel's, clutching it between both of hers, and sighed.

"It was when Matthew was about three…and then again almost two years later…."

Molly could almost see Isobel's mind spinning, trying to recall memories she had long since buried. And after a moment, she saw the eyes of her friend begin to widen and knew realization was dawning.

"No…" Isobel pulled her hands from Molly's soft grip and folded them in her lap. "Get away with you, Molly. It can't be that!"

She would not raise her eyes, knowing she could fall to pieces under any look of pity. Molly recognized Isobel's defiance and moved back to the settee, directly in Isobel's line of vision.

"But it could be…" Molly answered quietly.

"Heavens, no! Harold said it was highly unlikely."

"He did," Molly nodded, "but he did not say impossible."

"Molly…I am almost forty years old! There is absolutely no way…."

"None? Was Reginald not home for a week over the holiday?"

Isobel stopped abruptly. "Well…well, yes…he was."

"Because I will not believe for one moment _'it was not possible'_ when your husband came home after six months away."

Isobel's cheeks began to blush pink, and she looked down. Molly knew she had hit the nail on the head.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Isobel met Molly's smirk with sharp eyes. "Molly, stop! It can't be that…it can't be…."

Molly's grin dropped and her face softened upon seeing Isobel suddenly distraught.

Isobel's hand came to cover her quivering lips, the other gripping the arm of the chair she sat in. She closed her eyes, not wanting to believe it could be true…she didn't dare.

She looked up as a hand came to cover her shoulder, finding Molly standing over her.

"Let me speak to Harold. He can stop by later this afternoon, hm?"


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you all for the kind reviews of this story! If you have read At All Costs, you will remember Isobel referencing the loss of a child (other than Matthew). This is the story that developed from that reference. And now...on to the next chapter!

* * *

…_All is well here. Busy, but well. Mrs. Bingham sends you good wishes and promises a feast upon your return. Matthew writes that he is enjoying his studies and his Headmaster is pleased with his writing this term. I hope I do not bore him when he returns for a few weeks…I will have to find something to keep him busy! Will they give you leave soon? It seems you've been gone for another six months when it has only been two. _

_I miss you, Reginald. Write when you can but mostly, keep safe and well. _

_All my love, _

_Isobel _

She sighed as she folded the letter and sealed the envelope. She turned to stand but was met by the shaking finger of Mrs. Bingham.

"You aren't to be up and about quite yet."

Mrs. Bingham hurried over and retrieved the letter. Isobel tried not to be angry, knowing the cook was only following Dr. Carrington's instructions. But being cooped up in the house for a week was beginning to take its toll on her.

"My dear Mrs. Bingham, I _am _allowed to walk around the house."

"But not up and down the stairs without help, ma'am," Mrs. Bingham reminded her, setting the letter aside and a tray on the table beside Isobel's chair.

Isobel suppressed a groan as the cook made her a cup of tea and pulled the cover off of some warm broth.

"Has your stomach settled after this morning?"

Isobel forced a smile and nodded. "I'm sure it has. This is lovely…thank you."

"None of that now. The only gratitude I need is for you to finish this. I'll be up in a bit to check on you," Mrs. Bingham replied with a smile and a gentle hand on Isobel's shoulder.

Picking up the letter on the way out, she left Isobel in lonely silence once more. Isobel looked over at the tray and grimaced, the smell of the broth causing her stomach to turn. Deciding tea might help, she picked up the warm cup and held it close.

She needed to get back to work at the hospital; back to doing something useful! She loathed sitting in this room, day after day, doing nothing but reading and letter writing. But Dr. Carrington was strict in his orders, and Mrs. Bingham was just the woman to carry them out. Molly hadn't been any help either, coming over every evening to make sure Isobel was being an obedient patient.

If only they realized keeping her in bed was doing her emotions more harm than good…but she knew they meant well. They wanted to keep her healthy, just as she wanted the same for her patients. She sighed and took a sip of the tea, grateful Mrs. Bingham had known to put the ginger in again. It really did help to quell the nausea.

Setting the cup aside, she picked up the latest medical journal Dr. Carrington had supplied. But her thoughts lingered to Matthew…to Reginald…and to how she was going to tell them her news.

* * *

"Nurse Crawley, Sergeant Withers would like to see you. His bandaging is coming loose, and he trusts no one but you to change it."

Isobel nodded and smiled at the young nurse standing to her side. Finishing her last note, she closed the chart and stood.

"Thank you, Nurse Weaver. Would you check the linens in the examination rooms? I believe they were running low a few hours ago, and I don't think Nurse Hathoway had a chance to refill them before her shift ended."

"Of course!"

She hurried off while Isobel pulled Sergeant Withers' chart to take with her. The man was nice but only trusted the older nurses to care for him. She couldn't blame him…she wouldn't want someone inexperienced changing the dressing if she were shot. The man had suffered enough and was trying to recover without the use of morphine.

_Stubborn man…_she thought, plastering a smile on her face as she came to stand beside his bed.

"How are we today, Sergeant Withers?" she asked, opening his chart to view Dr. Carrington's latest notes.

"Whoever changed this dressing did a ghastly job of it. Would you fix it? I cannot stand when people are ignorant in their duties," he barked.

"Of course," she replied sweetly, setting the chart down and moving to the tray beside his bed. She gathered the supplies needed and efficiently changed the dressing with only one wince when she peeled the old gauze away from the wound.

"There, all set," she spoke after a few moments. He looked down at his chest and nodded before she buttoned his shirt once more.

"Good. Much better. Why can't all of the nurses do it that way?"

"They do try. Perhaps it's just practice they need," she answered.

"Mm….well, they are not to practice on me!"

"Of course not Sergeant," she replied, pulling the blanket over him. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Get me out of this wretched hospital," he grumbled.

She laughed softly and patted his arm. "All in good time. I'll speak to the doctor about it."

"And tell him I mean it!" he called as she walked away.

Rolling her eyes, she moved back to her desk and sat, only to be interrupted by another young nurse.

"I'm so sorry, Nurse Crawley, but the extra bandages are locked in the closet and I hadn't the key to open it."

"Not to worry. Dr. Carrington gave me a set for when he is away."

She stood to open the middle desk drawer but darkness began to blur her vision.

_No…_she thought, grasping the desk before she might fall. The young nurse beside her noticed something change and stepped forward.

"Nurse Crawley, are you all right?"

Isobel took a moment to collect herself, her vision still a bit of a blur when she finally pulled open the drawer.

"Yes, quite. There you are, dear. Would you bring them back when you've finished and locked the closet?"

"Of course. Shall I have Nurse Granger come to relieve you?"

"No…no need to bother her. Go on now…" Isobel replied, smiling weakly to the bubbly nurse. As the girl moved out of the hall, Isobel slowly sat, hoping quieter movements and deep breathing would calm things down.

And that was how Dr. Carrington found her five minutes later. Nurse Granger in tow, he strode in to the hall and directly to Isobel's desk, a frown upon his face.

"Nurse Crawley, I'd like for Nurse Granger to finish this charting. Would you come with me?"

"Oh…of course," Isobel answered, attempting to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary. She handed Nurse Granger the chart she had been working on and stood, much slower this time, before stepping aside.

Dr. Carrington watched her closely, noting how she held to the desk and chair as though her life depended on it. He allowed her to exit first, nodding his thanks to Nurse Granger.

"To my office, please," he said quietly, watching each step Isobel took and seeing they had slowed considerably over the past two days. He shut the door behind while she stood in the middle of the room, concerned at his silence. She hoped she had not done anything wrong that would result in a patient being hurt or complaining.

"Is everything all right, Dr. Carrington? I did mend the bandaging for Sergeant Withers. I know he likes to complain but…"

She stopped as Dr. Carrington came to stand in front of her, arms crossed and staring her down. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed on.

"Has one of the nurses done something, Doctor? I'm happy to speak to whomever if…"

"Sit."

"Hm?"

"Sit," he repeated, his voice low and eerily steady. She obeyed and dropped in to the chair behind her, clasping her hands together while her thumbs instinctively started twirling. He remained standing over her while she fidgeted under his intense watch.

"What time did your shift begin, Nurse Crawley?"

"Seven o'clock," she responded, chancing a look at him. He had not wavered, and she dropped her eyes again.

"And what time is it now?"

"Oh it is…umm…" She turned and looked at the large clock by the door. "Almost six…oh!"

She turned back to him, her eyes wide, knowing she should have been home hours ago. He had allowed her to come back to the hospital but on the condition she worked only three days out of the week for no more than six hours at a time.

"Need I remind you of our bargain?"

"No…no, I remember," she replied softly.

"Then why are you still here?" his tone began to rise and she knew he was frustrated.

_Just like Reginald,_ she thought. With a sigh, she responded, "I suppose I was caught up in what I was doing. I do apologize. I will give report to Nurse Granger before I leave."

"You will do no such thing," he answered, uncrossing his arms and raising to his full height. "You will go home…_immediately_…and get in to bed. And you will not return until I say so…do you understand?"

"But I…."

"Do you forget what happened before, Isobel?! You cannot take these chances!" he exclaimed, a bit ashamed when he saw her wince at his harsh tone. He was her doctor, true enough, but he was also her friend.

She averted her eyes, blinking rapidly to force the tears back. Silence filled the tense air until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw he had relaxed some, even offering a small smile to her.

"I'm sorry, my dear. But I made a promise to Reginald that I would look after you. And since you insist on not telling him, I had better make sure he comes home to find you well."

She nodded, looking down at her hands. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Now, let's get you home, shall we? I'll take you…Molly was expecting me an hour ago," he said, standing with a sigh. He turned and offered her a hand, smiling when she accepted his help.

"I'll pop by tomorrow to check in on you," he said, helping her put her coat on. "I'm sure Mrs. Bingham will be happy to give a full report of your activities."

"She usually does," Isobel answered, pulling her gloves on and allowing him to lead her out the door. Each step was heavy with regret, her nerves about to topple over the edge of this mountain of fear she held inside.

Conversation was sparse as Dr. Carrington walked her out of the hospital and down the narrow streets. He didn't wish to worry her, but the deep pit in his stomach told him he had better watch over her now more than ever. He prayed that the past remained in the past…

…And that the next Crawley baby was born alive and well.


	6. Chapter 6

_Late March, 1901_

"Welcome home, Mr. Matthew!" Mrs. Bingham cried, pulling the young man in to a hug. He smiled and kissed the elder cook's cheek, knowing she missed him almost as much as his mother.

"It's good to see you, Mrs. Bingham. How are you?" he asked as she helped him out of his coat and took his hat.

"Quite well, quite well. Oh my, I believe you've grown again. Look how tall you are!" she exclaimed, coming to stand in front of him. "Stand up straight, let me look at you."

He chuckled as she put her hands on his arms, looking him over from head to toe.

"Will I do?"

"Handsome as your father, you are. And quite professional might I add. Your mother will be so proud," she said. He thought he saw tears in her eyes but she quickly turned and gathered his traveling bag.

"I'll take this up to your room. When are the rest of your bags due?"

"The buggy is bringing them around now. Surely, I can…"

"You let me take care of them. Your mother is anxious to see you," she replied.

"Is she not at the hospital? I didn't expect her home before dinner," he said.

"No, she's just in the drawing room. She has a few days away…well deserved, might I add. Go on…I'll take care of these," she answered, pushing him in the direction of the drawing room. He laughed and thanked her, excited to see his mother for the first time in almost three months. It did not matter how old he became; he was always as giddy as a young boy when coming home for a visit.

Peeking in the door, contentment washed over him upon seeing his mother reading quietly in front of the fire. He stepped inside, tiptoeing up behind her.

Isobel gasped as Matthew placed a kiss on her cheek, dropping her book and turning to see her son grinning down at her.

"Matthew! Oh my dear, you startled me!" She reached up and he hugged her gently, noticing the blanket covering her legs and the shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Curious, he decided to leave his questions for later. Now, all he wanted to do was sit with her and tell her about the latest term.

He came around the settee and sat beside her.

"How are you, my dear? The train ride wasn't too tiring?"

"Not at all and my luggage arrived safe and sound. Mrs. Bingham is seeing to them now."

Her eyes seemed to light up as she smiled, cupping his cheek with her hand. "I am so glad you are home."

He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. "Not as happy as I am."

* * *

The next morning, Matthew woke to the smell of sausages and apples. He hadn't had Mrs. Bingham's cooking in far too long, and her breakfasts were far better than those of Radley College. He readied himself for the day quickly and hurried towards the staircase. And that was when he first heard something odd.

Looking to the far end of the hall, he noticed his mother's bedroom door still shut. He supposed he may be hearing things, still used to the sounds of multiple young men scurrying to get to their classes on time each morning. But something in him pulled him towards the bedroom door. Listening quietly, he waited a moment but heard nothing. She was most likely downstairs and his worrying up here was quite ridiculous now that he thought about it.

But as he turned to walk away, he knew his ears were not deceiving him. It sounded as though someone were gasping for air. He moved to open the door but was met by the face of Mrs. Bingham as it swung open.

"Mr. Matthew!"

"Mrs. Bingham, is Mother all right? I thought I heard…"

Mrs. Bingham shut the door quickly and took Matthew by the arm, leading him towards the stairs.

"She's just a bit ill this morning, my dear. Nothing to fret over. She asked that I feed you a good breakfast while she gets ready for the day."

"But I was sure I heard…"

"Probably my heavy breathing. I'm getting old, Mr. Matthew, and moving about doesn't suit as it used to."

She rushed him down the stairs and in to the dining room, sitting him at the small table. She turned and grabbed the morning paper, thrusting it in to his hands.

"Now, you read your paper, and I'll be out with your breakfast in a moment. There's a good lad." The cook hurried through the door to head down to the kitchens while Matthew sat, dazed and confused as to what just happened.

* * *

Timidly, Isobel opened her bedroom door and stepped in to the hallway. Seeing no one about, she sighed in relief and allowed her shoulders to sag a bit. Clinging to the wall, she made her way to the stair case, hoping to get settled in the drawing room before Matthew caught sight of her.

She held to the banister to steady herself, hoping the nausea would soon dissipate so she could enjoy an afternoon with her son. Carefully, she started down the stairs, having just stepped off the last when Matthew rounded the corner.

"Mother! There you are! How are you feeling?" he asked, quickly coming to her side and kissing her cheek. "Mrs. Bingham said you were ill this morning."

Isobel swallowed the nauseous feeling burning her throat and forced a smile. "She does worry too much. I'm fine…just a bit of a headache."

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking her directly in the eye and wrapping an arm around her back. "You do look quite pale."

"Oh come now..." she said, allowing him to lead her toward the drawing room "you're getting as fretful as your father."

Matthew smiled and held his head high. "I'm quite proud of that."

Isobel leaned her head against his shoulder. "As well you should be."

Matthew led her to the settee where she gratefully took a seat, motioning for him to sit beside her.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked.

"Oh, perhaps a bit of unpacking. Was there anything you needed done around the house? I could look and see what needs mending."

Isobel's eyes filled with tears, causing Matthew to grow quite concerned. He moved closer and took her hand.

"Mother, are you quite all right?"

She shook her head and laughed softly. "Don't mind me, dear. You have grown so much in the past year and it is hard for me to think of you as a young man, rather than my little boy."

Matthew's grin widened as he squeezed her hand. "I will always be your little boy, Mother…just without the lost teeth, runny noses and scraped knees to bother you with."

He winked at her, pulling her in for a hug. She blinked away her tears and pulled back, brushing a stray hair off of his forehead.

"Well now…enough nostalgia for one day. Let's see what we can find for you to fix, Mr. Crawley."


	7. Chapter 7

"My, my, Matthew Crawley! You are surely not who I expected but I am more than pleased to see you. Come in, come in!" Dr. Carrington motioned for the young man to enter his office.

"Thank you, Dr. Carrington. I know you are quite busy but I thought I should stop by to say hello," Matthew replied, taking a seat in front of the desk.

"And I'm glad you did! Tell me, how was your last term?"

"It went well, I believe. I've become quite engrossed with the law…much to my Father's chagrin," he answered with a smile.

"Ah, so the medical profession has not spoken to you," Dr. Carrington replied, nodding. "I must say I am a bit surprised. With both your father and mother working in our field, I would have thought for sure you would follow in their footsteps."

Matthew ducked his head. "I did as well…but I'm afraid my hands are not very good at holding steady."

"Well, I cannot speak for your Father, but I can say that the law is another worthy profession. And one that keeps we doctors safe from scandal," the elder man replied with a grin.

"Very true," Matthew answered, his face suddenly turning serious. "Dr. Carrington, there is one other reason I stopped by."

Harold Carrington sat back in his desk chair, knowing what was about to come. Matthew was a keen boy, extremely observant and focused on details in every aspect of his life. It did not surprise him that the young man would notice something was amiss when he arrived home from school.

"How can I help?"

"It's Mother, I'm afraid. I don't believe she is well," Matthew began slowly, not sure exactly how to explain his reasoning to the experienced physician.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Dr. Carrington did his best to remain stoic, not wanting his expression to give Isobel's secret away.

"She has been awfully tired lately, her coloring is quite pale, and she has been ill every morning since I arrived back. It's been over a week! I'm not sure this is just a matter of a small headache or virus."

Dr. Carrington nodded, seemingly taking in all of the information. "And has she said she is not feeling well?"

"You know, Mother. She will never admit weakness…but I wonder if there is something more to this than she will allow. Has she come to you at all?"

"Matthew…your Mother is a very strong woman. I admit I have suggested a bit of rest for her. She was working long hours every day here at the hospital. I thought it best to give her some time away to rebuild her stamina. Perhaps her body is still making up for all the time she spent caring for others."

"You really think so?" Matthew asked. "I promised Father I would write and tell him how she is feeling. He wrote that she seemed a bit down in her latest letters."

"Even in the midst of a war, your Father still has the innate ability to read your Mother like a book. I cannot say that I have noticed her seeming any less cheery lately, but I'm sure with you away at school and your father gone, her mood is a bit melancholy at times."

Matthew gave a sigh of relief and nodded. "I'm sure you're right. Thank you. I suppose I was worrying for nothing."

Dr. Carrington stood and came around to clap the young man on the shoulder. "Not to worry, my boy. With my wife keeping a close eye on her and Mrs. Bingham's mothering ways, I know that Isobel Crawley will be well taken care of. And I'll be sure to check in on her myself, how does that sound?"

"It means a great deal to Father and I," Matthew said, standing to shake the doctor's hand.

"It is nothing your family would not do for mine," the doctor replied, opening his office door and turning back to face Matthew. "You take care of yourself and enjoy your break. And if there is anything else that concerns you, my door is always open."

"Thank you…oh and we'll see you for dinner on Friday? Mother said she had set the date with Mrs. Carrington."

"Well, until Friday then," Dr. Carrington replied with a wide smile. "Give your mother our best."

And as the perceptive young man walked away from his office, Harold Carrington realized that Isobel Crawley would not be able to keep her secret much longer.

* * *

_**Two Days Later**_

"I do apologize for being late, Mother. I met with Thomas Loughlin for a chat and lost all track of time," Matthew said hurriedly, kissing Isobel on the cheek and taking his seat at the dinner table.

"No matter, dear. I just sat down myself," Isobel replied, smiling as Mrs. Bingham came through the door with a serving tray. "And it seems we are both just in time."

"I hope you both enjoyed your day," Mrs. Bingham said, greeting them both and placing their dinner on the table.

After some conversation about their day, Matthew asked, "Dr. and Mrs. Carrington are coming to dinner on Friday, correct?"

"Yes they are. Why?"

"I have a few things I would like to speak with Dr. Carrington about…I forgot to ask him the other day when I stopped by the hospital."

Isobel's eyebrows rose as she set her soup spoon down and touched her napkin to her lips. "You stopped at the hospital? When was this?"

"Oh, the other day. Just to say hello and to give Father's regards. He wrote in his last letter that I should thank Dr. Carrington for taking such good care of our family while he is away," Matthew replied with a smile.

"How nice. I'm sure he appreciated it," Isobel answered.

"He did. And he also said he had given you some time off from the hospital," Matthew said.

Isobel's spoon dropped in to her bowl with a clatter, causing Matthew to look over at her with concern.

"Mother? Are you all right?"

Isobel, collecting herself quickly, nodded. "Just a clumsy moment, forgive me."

Matthew smiled kindly. "Of course!"

Isobel hoped he would drop the matter of her working but it was not to be.

"And when are you to return to the hospital?"

"In the next few weeks I suppose. They are extremely busy, and I would like to be back as soon as possible."

"I must admit I was surprised to find you home when I arrived. I feared I would not see much of you during my holiday."

Isobel smiled and replied, "Well, I am glad that I am here to enjoy some extra time with you."

"As am I! But Dr. Carrington did say you had been working quite long hours…I hope it has not been too much for you."

Isobel's eyes narrowed as she looked over at him. "Too much?"

Matthew was used to this look….one that his mother wore when she suspected something more was meant by a comment. He placed his spoon down and reached over to clasp her hand.

"I only meant that you have not been feeling well this week and that perhaps you could work decreased hours at the hospital for awhile. It will not do for you to make yourself ill."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before turning back to his plate. Isobel knew she shouldn't press the subject…deciding it was best to let the matter rest and speak to the doctor on her own. She needed to make sure Matthew had not asked Dr. Carrington about her health…if he had….

"Ah, that looks wonderful, Mrs .Bingham," Matthew said, thanking the cook as she placed a roast in the center of the table.

"I know it is one of your favorites, Mr. Matthew. Is there anything more I can get for you?" the cook asked.

"No, I think this will be just fine. Thank you," Matthew answered after seeing that Isobel seemed lost in thought.

Mrs. Bingham nodded but made it a point to remain within earshot…for the pale color Isobel Crawley had turned worried the elder cook. Matthew kept his eye on Isobel as he cut the meat and placed some on her plate.

"Mother…are you all right?" he asked before taking a bite of his meat.

She nodded but closed her eyes as the smell of the roast caused the nausea to rear its head once more. After a moment, she placed her napkin on the table and stood.

"Excuse me dear…I think I need to lie down for a bit," she said, a slight shake in her voice. Matthew stood quickly and put a hand under her arm.

"You are quite pale…what is wrong?" he asked quickly. "I'll send for Dr. Carrington right away…"

"Nothing…nothing. I'll be just fine…a bit of a headache is all," she assured him as they moved to the staircase.

"Well, I would like him to see you just the same. He was going to look in on you this week…I told him you had not been feeling yourself."

Isobel stopped suddenly, one hand on the banister, and turned to face Matthew. "I'm just fine, Matthew. Only tired...nothing more. I'm sure this will pass by morning."

"Mother!" the young man exclaimed with frustration. "I told Father I would make sure you were taken care of….please let me send for the doctor!"

If nothing else, Isobel Crawley was independent…and she did not like being taken care _**of**_…the reason she was a nurse was because she liked to care _**for**_ …and her son was dangerously close to impeding that independence.

"No, Matthew, it is unnecessary," she said sternly, making her way up the first few steps.

"Mother, you are being unreasonable!"

Without thinking, she turned sharply to scold him for speaking to her in such a tone. But the room began to spin, so much so that she had to grip the banister with both hands and squeeze her eyes shut to remain upright.

"Mother…Mother, what is it?" Matthew asked, rushing up the steps and placing his hands on her upper arms. "Mrs. Bingham! Mrs. Bingham!"

"Matthew, I am fine," Isobel breathed quietly. She took a moment to collect herself before chancing a look up at her worried son.

"You are most definitely NOT fine!" he said, his grip tightening on her arms. "Thank goodness, Mrs. Bingham. Will you take Mother to bed? I'll go fetch Dr. Carrington."

"Of course, Mr. Matthew…" the cook replied, rushing from the dining room to stand beside Isobel.

"As I've said, it is not necessary," Isobel began, only to be interrupted by Matthew once more.

"Mother! You can hardly stand straight…this is much more than a headache!"

Mrs. Bingham, seeing the distress on Isobel's face, quickly intervened. "Mr. Matthew, why don't we wait and see how Mrs. Crawley feels after she's had a bit of a lie down?"

"But…"

The cook's pointed look at the young man stopped his protest. He suspected that Mrs. Bingham knew more than she was saying; so he gave in, hopeful that she might offer a hint as to what was wrong with his mother.

"Of course…I'm sorry. Mother, do get some rest. And please let me know what I might do to help," he said, ducking his head.

"Very good, Mr. Matthew. Come now, ma'am, let us get you to bed, all right?"

Mrs. Bingham gently guided Isobel up the stairs, glancing behind and nodding at Matthew. Dejected, the young man walked back down the steps and in to the dining room. The ticking of the clock was all that could be heard as Matthew Crawley sat heavily in his chair, waiting for an answer…an answer he hoped he would get.


	8. Chapter 8

_Short but a turning point for sure :) _

* * *

"Good morning, Mother! How are you feeling today?" Matthew asked, coming in to the sitting room the next morning and kissing Isobel on the cheek.

"Much better, thank you," Isobel replied, trying to forget their quarrel the night before. "A few good hours of sleep seems to be all I needed."

He sat across from her with the morning paper and nodded. "I am so glad. I do apologize for speaking in such a way last night. I never meant…."

Isobel held up a hand. "My dear, it is forgotten. I daresay I am very lucky that you are so concerned…most men your age have no worry for their parents I'm afraid."

Matthew folded the paper and set it aside. Clasping his hands in his lap, he leaned forward and sighed. "Mother, I will always worry about you. With Father away and my being at school, I fear there will be no one here should something happen and you need help."

Isobel laughed softly. "My dear, you forget that I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

He nodded and looked out the window, seeming to be deep in thought. Isobel turned back to her cross-stitch, glad to have eased his concerns.

"But are you capable of taking care of yourself in such a condition?" Matthew asked quietly after a few moments.

Isobel's head snapped up, her eyes wide. Matthew was staring at her intently, his look extremely serious.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Mother…I do not blame you for keeping this from us. But Father must know…he would want to know. He might be able to get some time away to help you…"

Isobel set her cross stitch to the side and stood, crossing to stand over her son.

"My dear, I do not know what you believe to be wrong, but I assure you that your Father is too busy and quite incapable of coming home. I am entirely capable of taking care of…"

"I know about the baby."


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you all for the kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this next installment :) _

* * *

"You're sure you have everything you need?" Isobel asked, looking around the front entrance to make sure no cases were missed.

Two and a half weeks had passed, and Matthew was due back at school that evening. It was with reluctance that he agreed to go back, wanting nothing more than to stay home and watch over his mother. But, she had insisted and reminded him that she was still the adult in the situation.

"Yes, I think so," he said, taking one last glance around the hall before moving forward to kiss her cheek. "I'll be sure to write tonight so you will have it in the post by week's end."

She reached forward and took his hands in hers. "You be sure and do that. And I expect to hear about your new classes and how you're getting on with your professors, hm?"

"Yes, Mother," he answered obediently, rolling his eyes.

"Oh you," she chided, swatting him gently on the arm before pulling him down for a hug. "Be safe, my boy."

He smiled in to her shoulder and rubbed his hand up and down her back. "I will…the same goes for you, Mother."

Pulling back, she nodded but averted her eyes, not wanting to upset him by showing her tears. "You'd best be off. You wouldn't want to miss the train."

"Right," he answered, squeezing her hands once more before putting his hat on. As he pulled on his gloves, he said quietly, "Do take care, Mother. Dr. Carrington has permission to inform me if you're not following orders."

"Be off with you," she scolded, waving him out the door. "You'll be late."

"I mean it, Mother. Listen to him…please." His pleading look crushed her, and she quickly agreed.

"All right, all right. I promise…now go on!"

His smile widened as he kissed her cheek once more and rushed out the door, waving as he got in to the carriage. She waved back, her free hand instinctively coming to rest on her abdomen. He called out his last farewell and was driven off, leaving Isobel standing alone in the doorway. As the carriage turned the corner, out of sight, she closed the door and leaned heavily against the wall. How she would miss her little boy…or rather, the young man he had become.

Mrs. Bingham found her a few moments later, concerned at first but quickly realizing Isobel's cause for melancholy.

"Come now, ma'am, he'll be back sooner than you know," she assured Isobel softly. She took Isobel's arm and looped it through her own, leading Isobel in to the drawing room.

"I'm sure you're right…though three months does seem quite a ways off," Isobel replied.

"Ah, but you will have quite a lot to keep you busy during that time, ma'am," the cook answered, smiling down as her eyes focused on Isobel's still flat stomach.

Isobel laughed lightly. "I suppose you are right. I will have to look at my wardrobe and see what I might be able to use in a few months. I hardly think I kept anything from when I was expecting Matthew or …"

Her voice trailed off, her eyes suddenly becoming distant as Mrs. Bingham settled her on the settee. The cook remained silent for a moment, not sure whether or not she should impede on Isobel's memories. She pulled a blanket off of the window seat and placed it over Isobel's lap. Placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder, Mrs. Bingham did her best to encourage her.

"It will be all right, ma'am. That was quite a while ago…and Dr. Carrington will do all he can to make sure this time turns out better than the last. You just remember that," she said firmly, though her tone was laced with compassion.

Isobel nodded, her eyes dropping to her lap. "Thank you, Mrs. Bingham…..I do hope it does."

* * *

_Early May, 1901_

"Letter for you, Mrs. Crawley," Mrs. Bingham called, her eyes filled with delight as she took note of where the return address.

She bustled in to the library where Isobel was seated with her glasses sliding down her nose as she bent over the large desk. Mrs. Bingham stopped mid-stride, ready to scold the woman for continuing to work, but saw how engrossed Isobel was in her task. She knew that only being allowed to work at the hospital two days a week was difficult for Isobel, and hence, she decided to allow the woman a bit of leeway when it came to working from home.

"Mrs. Crawley…" the cook called again, startling Isobel enough that she looked up.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Bingham. How can I help?" Isobel asked, pulling her glasses off and setting her pen down.

"Letter for you, ma'am. From Dr. Crawley…" the cook replied, handing the worn envelope over.

Isobel breathed a sigh of relief seeing the return address. "Thank God…" she breathed, ripping it open.

It had been over three weeks since she'd last heard from Reginald. And while she knew he did not have much time to write, the stress of hearing nothing worried her to the point where she lay awake at night. Her mind would create horrid scenarios of what he was enduring or worse, that he had been hurt and unable to get word back to her.

She skimmed over the first few lines as Mrs. Bingham stood waiting anxiously. Isobel sank back in to the chair, one hand to her chest. "He's fine…he's all right," she said with a smile, tears brimming her eyelids.

"Oh, thank the Lord for that," Mrs. Bingham replied, her own eyes misting at the good news. "I'll leave you to read in pace. But tell Dr. Crawley that was a very nasty trick he played waiting so long to write!"

Isobel laughed softly. "I'll be sure to let him know."

The cook left Isobel alone, shutting the library door to give her some privacy. Isobel settled in to the chair and grinned, reading the letter two or three times over before setting it to the side. How she wished he were home…or at least had some idea as to when he would be afforded a few days' leave. But from all indications, there was no end to the fighting in sight, and his expertise was needed constantly at the field hospital.

Looking down, her hands came to rest on her abdomen, still flat but slightly harder than normal. Dr. Carrington worried her nutrition was not up to par, but how could he expect her to eat when she constantly worried for her husband's safety? She had chosen not to tell Reginald about the baby…not yet anyway. And while he was reluctant, she swore Matthew to secrecy until he was home from his next term. By that time, she would be starting her last trimester and hopefully, the baby would be fine. Not like before…

Fear suddenly overwhelmed her, and she quickly pulled open the desk drawer to her left. Her fingers circled around a stethoscope and tentatively, she put the base on her abdomen and listened carefully in the other end.

For a moment, her own heart stopped when she heard silence. But after a few seconds, a faint heartbeat sounded. Relief washed over her as she listened for another moment before setting the stethoscope aside.

_Four more months_, she thought, _four more months until I can finally hold you in my arms._


	10. Chapter 10

_Two Weeks Later_

"Nurse Crawley! Nurse Crawley!"

Isobel's head shot up as Nurse Hathoway rounded the corner, skidding to a stop in front of Isobel's small desk.

"Nurse Hathoway, what…"

"Please, Nurse Crawley, you must come! It's the little Hawthorne boy, he is having trouble breathing!"

"Go fetch Dr. Carrington," Isobel called, standing as quickly as she could, "he's in the examination room."

Isobel hurried to the pediatric hall, running as fast as she could in her heels. A group of nurses had gathered around the young boy's bed, his mother screaming for someone to help her son.

"What's happened?" Isobel asked, moving one of the younger nurses to the side so she could assess the six year olds status.

"He was just talking!" his mother cried.

"Take her out," Isobel whispered to the nurse standing closest to her before leaning over the wheezing boy. "Shh, shh, it's all right now."

She pushed the sweat laden hair off of the boy's forehead and placed her hand firmly in the middle of his chest. The boy's eyes were darting back and forth as his airway became more and more restricted. Making a quick decision, she sat the little boy up and began firmly pounding the middle of his back.

"Nurse Crawley! What are you doing? He can't breathe!" one of the younger, less experienced nurses called out.

"I know…get those screens," she ordered, continuing her task as the frightened nurses moved large screens for privacy around the boy's bed.

The wheezing turned to coughing in little less than a minute as Isobel prayed her initial decision was the right one. She heard a commotion coming down the hall, hoping it was Dr. Carrington. Her thoughts were brought back to the boy as his hands came to squeeze her arm now keeping him from falling forward. As he sputtered, Nurse Hathoway moved forward with a cloth and wiped off the mucus coming from his mouth.

"There you are, dear, that feels much better out than in," she soothed, her look to Isobel assuring the Head Nurse this treatment was working.

As the boy continued coughing up mucus, one of the screens was pulled aside, Dr. Carrington pushing everyone out of his way.

"Nurse Crawley…"

"His breathing has improved...though he is still coughing up the mucus that caused the wheezing," she explained, her pounding now having turned to massaging the boy's back. Dr. Carrington pulled out his stethoscope and stood on the opposite side of the bed, listening to the boy's lungs carefully. He nodded after a moment, knowing the problem, and motioned for Isobel to follow him outside the curtain.

"Nurse Hathoway, take over for a moment, please," he instructed. Isobel stood and leaned the boy back against the metal headboard, smiling warmly as she cupped his cheek.

"You rest now, all right?"

Young Andrew nodded, but as she pulled her hand away and stood, he clasped on to her fingers, tugging insistently. She turned back and looked down at him, her heart breaking at the large tears forming in his eyes.

"Don't go," he begged softly.

Despite the twinge in her back, she leaned over once more and took both his hands in hers. "I'll be back soon…Nurse Hathoway will take care of you. And I'll bring your mother with me, all right?"

Andrew looked down and nodded, a large tear dropping on to his crumpled blanket.

"There's a good lad….we'll have you better in no time," she said softly, kissing the back of his hands before slowly straightening.

Dr. Carrington noticed the wince cross his Head Nurse's face when she left the boy's bedside, wondering how much longer he could allow her to continue working. He gestured for her to follow him in to the hall where they found Andrew's mother pacing furiously, her hands clasped together.

"Dr. Carrington! Is he all right? Please…please tell me he's all right!" she pleaded.

The doctor gently pushed her in to a chair and smiled at her. "It seems Nurse Crawley took care of this episode splendidly. He is still coughing a bit, but the worst is over and he can breathe normally."

"Truly? Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet once more. "Might I see him?"

"One moment, Mrs. Hawthorne. I'm afraid Andrew is showing signs of pneumonia."

The woman's face dropped, as did Isobel's, as they both stared wide-eyed at the doctor. His sullen expression told Isobel he was almost sure of his diagnosis. He would test the mucus for confirmation, of course, but she had seen this expression pass over his and Reginald's face before. And it was that look that often resulted in a fatal outcome.

"But…but he can't have…" Mrs. Hawthorne's head shook back and forth, her form slowly crumbling. Isobel stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the woman, holding her up as she shook from sobs. Her eyes moved to Dr. Carrington who shook his head sadly. As Isobel continued to comfort Mrs. Hawthorne, the doctor stepped forward.

"Mrs. Hawthorne, we will do everything we can to make Andrew well again. But you must realize how severe this is…I would be doing you an injustice if I implied any different."

She pulled back from Isobel's hold and nodded, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, Doctor. But he's a strong boy….he should be just fine."

Isobel handed her a handkerchief and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "That's just what he needs to hear right now. I'll take you in to sit with him."

"Thank you, Nurse Crawley," Mrs. Hawthorne replied softly, straightening her dress and making sure her face was dry so as not to worry Andrew. "I'm ready."


	11. Chapter 11

Later that evening, Isobel closed her last chart and turned off the desk lamp. Thinking over the day, she sighed. Pediatric patients were never easy to handle…especially when there was no logical reason why they were ill. She couldn't imagine if Matthew had ever been so sick as little Andrew Hawthorne. She feared she would have fallen to pieces if they had lost him so young.

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she stood to leave for the day when a strong twinge moved from her back through her abdomen. She grasped the edge of the desk, taking a moment to collect her breath and allow the pain to dissipate.

_Please be nothing…_she prayed, chancing a step away from the desk. Feeling a bit steadier, she slowly moved to gather her coat and bag. But as she pulled the coat on, the twinge came back again, taking her breath away.

_No…_

"Nurse Crawley, might I have a moment before you leave this evening?" Dr. Carrington asked from the doorway.

Forcing a smile, she agreed. "Of course."

She hoped this episode was merely a result of bending over charts for the past two hours. She followed Dr. Carrington in to his office and obliged when he motioned for her to sit.

"How can I help?" she asked.

"I simply wanted to commend you on your work with the Hawthorne boy today. Your quick thinking saved me from doing a tracheotomy."

While she was pleased at his praise, her emotions were mixed with sadness over the prognosis for the little boy.

"How is he this evening?" she asked quietly.

Dr. Carrington sighed and took a seat at his desk. "Not well, I'm afraid. He is having trouble with the breathing treatments because of the large amount of mucus in his lungs. Hopefully the medication will begin to do its job in the next day or so."

She nodded, her eyes fixated on her bag lying in her lap. "Would you like me to come in and sit with him awhile? I have the time."

He smiled at her, knowing Isobel well enough to understand she would willingly do all she could to help a child. "I think we can manage. I daresay I won't get his mother away from his side for the next few days."

Isobel smiled weakly. "True. I cannot blame her."

"Nor I," Dr. Carrington agreed, standing once more. "And now I best let you get home so you can rest. You are feeling all right? Nothing bothering you?"

She stood and shook her head. "I'm fine…just worried for young Andrew is all."

"You let me do the worrying about him. You have enough on your plate to fret over," he replied, opening the door for her. "And I do not expect to see you back here for two days' time, Nurse Crawley."

"Yes, Dr. Carrington," she replied obediently, though not without rolling her eyes in exasperation.

He chuckled and waved goodbye as she walked out of the hospital. But something was pulling at him to question her further. He decided a trip to Isobel Crawley's was in order tomorrow...to make sure she was following his orders.

* * *

Isobel sank in to bed that evening, her entire body aching for relief. She hadn't even the strength to pick up the novel on her side table before she lay down. She moved to turn off the lamp but couldn't quite reach it. Rather than stretch further, she allowed her arm to fall and decided she could sleep with the light on. She curled up beneath the blankets and prayed sleep would come quickly.

And it did…

Her eyes didn't open until the fire had almost died out and the clock read three in the morning. She rolled over to get a few more hours rest when she quickly realized why she was awake...


	12. Chapter 12

**My apologies for such a long wait for an update! **

**In the last chapter…you may recall….**

_Isobel sank in to bed that evening, her entire body aching for relief. She hadn't even the strength to pick up the novel on her side table before she lay down. She moved to turn off the lamp but couldn't quite reach it. Rather than stretch further, she allowed her arm to fall and decided she could sleep with the light on. She curled up beneath the blankets and prayed sleep would come quickly. _

_And it did…_

_Her eyes didn't open until the fire had almost died out and the clock read three in the morning. She rolled over to get a few more hours rest when she quickly realized why she was awake._

* * *

Mrs. Bingham hummed to herself softly as she started the fires on the first floor. Waking at four o'clock every morning came easily to her after so many years. She could run on little sleep and needed no prodding by an alarm to pull her out of bed. And she was glad the season was turning from winter to spring…it made getting out from under the covers much easier.

She finished in the drawing room and moved up the stairs to gather Isobel's nursing clothes from the day before. Isobel had insisted she could wash them herself, but Mrs. Bingham would not allow it. Dr. Carrington had made it quite clear that Isobel was not to overexert herself while at home…and that meant no laundry, cleaning or cooking for Nurse Crawley.

She began sorting the laundry from the small closet beside Isobel's bedroom when her ears peaked. She thought she'd heard movement but knew it was quite early for her employer to be awake. Isobel never woke before five…and these days, she tended to sleep in after a long day of work at the hospital.

Forgetting about the dirty clothes, Mrs. Bingham moved to the hall and gently turned the door knob to Isobel's bedroom. The lamp on the bedside table was on, but even with the light illuminating the room, Mrs. Bingham could not see Isobel anywhere. She quietly moved in to the room, looking to the arm chair beside the window, only to find it empty as well.

The curious cook supposed Isobel could be in the washroom, seeing its door closed. But as she rounded the corner of the bed to check, she came to a startled halt.

"Mrs. Crawley!"

Isobel was seated on the floor, leaning heavily against the bed. Her legs were curled to the side with one hand protectively on her stomach. Mrs. Bingham rushed forward when Isobel stretched out her other hand, taking it and kneeling down beside the younger woman.

"What's happened, Mrs. Crawley? What is it?"

Isobel didn't speak, her only response being the tightening of her fingers around Mrs. Bingham's hand.

"Mrs. Crawley…what can I do?"

"You best send…." A pain stabbed in Isobel's abdomen, and she pressed her lips together to suppress the groan that threatened to emerge.

The cook patted Isobel's hand, wishing she knew what was wrong or what she could do to help. If only she'd had more medical training…

"Send for Dr. Carrington….please…" Isobel whispered. Her eyes shut as a grimace played across her features.

"But surely I shouldn't leave you," Mrs. Bingham answered with worry.

"Please…" Isobel begged, her eyes opening to stare at Mrs. Bingham. A lone tear slipped down her cheek as she squeezed the cook's hand. "Please…"

Mrs. Bingham nodded. "Right… stay there….I'll be back as soon as I can."

And with that, Mrs. Bingham hurried to the first floor and out the back door. She prayed the neighbor's cook, Mrs. Campbell, was an early riser. She feared it might be the only chance she had to help Mrs. Crawley…and the baby.


	13. Chapter 13

Isobel tried to read Dr. Carrington's face as he placed the stethoscope on different parts of her abdomen. But his lips remained in a straight line, not allowing Isobel to imply any information about the baby.

"How is the pain?" he asked, pulling the stethoscope from his ears.

"Better," she answered.

"Good," he replied simply, turning back to his medical bag. He remained silent which was beginning to unnerve her.

He had arrived almost two hours ago and after giving her a dose of some odd medication, the contractions had slowed. It was true; she was not in as much pain now, but if she moved too quickly, the ache in her back grew significantly. Her eyes drifted off, fear overwhelming her as her hands came to rest on her stomach.

Turning, Harold Carrington saw the emotional turmoil Isobel was in. Reaching down, he gently patted her hands.

"The baby is all right," he spoke softly. Her eyes turned to meet his, the shock evident in her silent expression. "But it was a close call, Isobel."

Her eyes dropped. "I know."

"Why on Earth didn't you tell me about the pain last night?"

"I didn't think…it seemed like nothing more than an ache here and there," she answered honestly.

He didn't want to act cross…Heaven knew she'd been through more than enough, and he did not wish to add to her sorrow. But he had arrived just in time…and that close of a call concerned him more than he was willing to admit.

Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed and wiped a hand over his eyes. "You'll need to stay in bed for at least three days. And you are not to sit up or walk across the room without help…do you understand?"

She nodded, her fingers playing with the edge of the quilt covering her.

"I will be back this evening to see how you are doing. But if you feel anything, _anything, _like a contraction, I want you to send for me immediately."

"All right," she replied quietly.

He stood and gathered his medical bag to leave. Turning to remind her to rest quietly one more time, he found she had turned her face away, one hand covering her quivering lips. Foregoing another lecture, he reached over and squeezed her shoulder before leaving the room in silence.

* * *

Sealing the envelope, Harold Carrington laid the letter to the side, not quite sure whether or not he should post it.

"And what is it that has you so intrigued this evening?" Molly Carrington asked her husband, coming around his desk to place a hand on his shoulder. "You've been quiet all night."

"Mm…have I? I am sorry," he replied, reluctantly picking up the envelope and handing it to her. "I've been thinking about whether or not I should send this."

Molly read the recipient's name and her eyes darted to stare wide-eyed at her husband. "You wouldn't tell him, would you? I know you teased Isobel that you would if she didn't follow your orders…but…oh Harold, you mustn't!"

"He deserves to know," Harold replied, pushing himself to stand. He crossed to the far side of the room, both hands on his hips. "I told him I would let him know if anything went wrong. I promised the boy, Molly! I cannot go back on that promise!"

"But Isobel would be crushed! You know how she feels about Matthew worrying over her. She wants him to enjoy school!"

"Molly, can't you understand? The next time he sees his mother might be in a pine box if she's not careful!"

Molly's mouth shut, any retort she'd had instantly squelched. She dropped the letter and turned away, her hands coming to cover her face. Harold's anger dissipated at seeing his wife so distraught. She was Isobel's closest friend, and he knew she was only looking out for the entire Crawley family's interests. But reality was such that Isobel was in far worse condition than he'd imagined.

Hanging his head in shame, he moved towards his wife. "Molly, I am sorry. I should not have said that."

"But is it true?!" she demanded, pulling a handkerchief out to wipe under her eyes, as she turned to face him once more.

He nodded, unable to voice the words. He heard her breath hitch and looked up, finding she had dropped in to his desk chair, the handkerchief now pressed over her lips as she quietly wept. Sighing, he moved to the side table and poured a large glass of brandy, knowing he was in for a long night.


	14. Chapter 14

"Mr. Matthew! What are you…?"

Mrs. Bingham quickly stepped aside as Matthew Crawley pushed in the front door.

"Where is Mother?"

"She's having a bit of a lie down…she…"

"Dr. Carrington wrote me," he stated seriously, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on a hook. He turned and saw the shocked look on the cook's elderly face, realizing the doctor had said nothing of this to either she or his mother.

"What did he say?" the cook asked cautiously.

"That Mother was not doing well…and there was a scare with the baby," he replied, running a hand over his face.

It had been a long journey and being mid-term, he was up to his neck in work. But his Headmaster had seen sense, thankfully, and given him a weekend pass to come home. Professor Quiggens knew the young man would never be able to finish his schoolwork with his mother home alone in such a state. He had generously offered Matthew extra time for his essays, but Matthew refused…quite like his mother when it came to putting off work.

"How is she? Truly?" he asked, reaching over to place a hand on the cook's shoulder.

"Mr. Matthew…she wouldn't like it if I said any more," Mrs. Bingham replied, looking away from his dark expression. She wished him to be a young, innocent boy again; not a man having to take over the household in place of his father.

He sighed, allowing his hand to drop. "Of course. I will go and see for myself. Thank you…thank you for taking such good care of her."

His eyes filled with tears and he hurried to the staircase, not wanting to show such weak emotions in front of Mrs. Bingham. He needed to be strong…his father was saving hundreds of lives every week. It was time he took care of the one life…or two…that meant the most to them.

* * *

Matthew knocked softly, hearing nothing from the other side. Taking a few deep breaths, he readied himself and entered the room. The fire crackled softly and a dim light shone from his father's bedside table, but the rest of the room was dark. He quietly shut the door and turned to face the bed. He couldn't help but smile at seeing Isobel sleeping peacefully.

He took a few steps forward and pulled a chair from along the wall to sit beside her. Her face seemed so at ease; it was difficult to imagine there was anything wrong as Dr. Carrington had written. But he noticed the uneaten crackers and soup on her bedside table, and her one hand covering her still flat abdomen. She was more than five months along, and Dr. Carrington worried she wasn't showing. She still got ill every morning, he wrote, but nothing he could give her would take away the nausea.

Matthew hung his head, allowing it to rest in both his hands, as he tried to come up with some way in which to help his mother and new brother or sister. He suddenly realized how his father must feel when, as a physician, there was nothing more he could do to help a patient. And he hated the feeling…it only signified that his decision to move away from the medical field was the right one. He could not handle the pressures of dealing with the sick and dying each and every day.

After a few moments, he heard the blankets rustling and looked up hopefully. How he wished to tell his mother all that had happened over the past month! And to let her know that he was here for her now…that she didn't need to carry the burden alone.

He leaned forward, smiling as her eyes opened slowly. But they closed quickly, her face contorting in pain as she shifted to lie on her side. He could keep silent no more, quickly standing to help her turn.

"Mother….I'm here…let me help," he said quietly.

Her eyes opened wide, her thoughts still a bit hazy after having been asleep so long. But she realized this was not a dream as Matthew gently held her close and helped her roll to the right. He rubbed her back softly before standing and smiling down at her.

"Matthew…what are you doing here? Why aren't…?" she began, only to be interrupted by his taking her hand in his.

"I've come for the weekend. I want to help, Mother. Please let me…"he said, squeezing her fingers gently.

"But your exams are in two weeks. Surely you should be studying," she protested, pulling her hand away. She tried to sit up on her own, not wanting her son to think she was frail or needed coddling. But the stretch to her side was too much, and the pain evidenced itself quickly. She sucked in her breath and turned her face away, feeling as though a needle had been pushed through her core.

Matthew intervened, moving forward and placing two strong hands on her upper arms, gently helping her to lean back against the pillows.

"You mustn't try to move…"

"Matthew…."

"Please Mother, just lie still," he pleaded.

She couldn't handle the look of concern in her son's eyes…he should be away studying for his exams; enjoying time with his friends; growing up. Pressing her lips together, she looked down, away from the fear on his young face.

Sighing, Matthew sat next to her on the side of the bed.

"Dr. Carrington wrote and said you'd had a bit of a scare. With Father away, he agreed it would be best to inform me if these circumstances occurred."

"And have you told your Father?" Isobel asked quietly.

"No, I wanted to see you first."

She remained silent, her hands clasped together tightly in her lap. Not knowing what to do or say, he cautiously reached over to touch her arm.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

Tears welled in her eyes and she couldn't speak due to the large lump of emotions now settling in her throat. She shook her head and looked across the room, not wanting her son to see her in such a state.

"Please Mother, I only want to help…and I _am_ old enough to be told what's going on," he explained, reaching over to put his hand on top of hers.

Isobel took a moment to compose her emotions and then gave her son a weak smile. "You're a dear, Matthew. And I so appreciate your concern….truly."

The young man looked down sheepishly but Isobel tugged on his hand, causing him to look up.

"Why don't we talk in the morning, hm? You must be tired after your trip," she said, her worry for his well-being overtaking her own exhaustion.

He acquiesced, gently squeezing her fingers. "I'm only agreeing because I want you to rest. Mrs. Bingham will have my head if I keep you awake much longer," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "But would you like me to sit with you for a bit? I could read to you or…"

Isobel let go of his hand and brushed her fingers down his cheek. "No, my dear boy. You go get some rest…and I'm sure Mrs. Bingham has already fixed you something to eat."

He chuckled and stood. "Indeed. Shall I have her bring you anything?"

She shook her head but thanked him for asking. As he opened the door to her bedroom to leave, he stopped and turned suddenly.

"Mother?"

"Hm?"

"It will be all right…I'm sure of it," he said softly.

Holding back her tears, she took a deep breath and looked over at him. "Of course it will be. Off with you now."

"Sleep well, Mother," he replied, shutting the door quietly.

"I do hope so," she whispered to herself, sliding down in to the pillows and praying rest would come.


	15. Chapter 15

_**The next morning…**_

"Matthew…it is good to see you," Harold Carrington said, reaching out a hand to the young man.

Matthew shook it gratefully and ushered the doctor in to the drawing room. "I wanted to thank you for writing. You were correct; Mother is not herself and seems very ill."

Dr. Carrington sat across from Matthew, his frown evidence of the serious nature of Isobel's condition. "Quite ill in fact. Mrs. Bingham said you arrived home last evening….how was your Mother then?"

"Very tired…and when she tried to move, she seemed to be in pain."

The doctor nodded with a sigh. "Hopefully the severity of the pain will decrease after a few more days. But she will need to be very careful from here on out….did she tell you what happened?"

"We were going to discuss it this morning, but she was still asleep when I last checked in on her."

Dr. Carrington looked at his watch. "I am a bit early….but I wanted the chance to see her before rounds start at the hospital. Why don't I go check on her and then I'll send you up."

The doctor stood and walked to the doorway, followed closely by Matthew. "Dr. Carrington?"

"Yes?" Harold stopped and turned to find Matthew looking extremely worried and staring him directly in the eyes.

"Will you tell me the truth….tell me what's happened and why Mother won't tell Father about the baby?"

Harold Carrington knew this was coming…knew Matthew would not want to be kept in the dark any longer. He reached over and gripped Matthew's shoulder.

"Let me see your Mother…and then we'll talk."

* * *

"Isobel, you must see reason!"

But the harsh glare he received told Dr. Carrington that Isobel Crawley was not going to agree with him…no matter what he said.

"The boy deserves to know, Isobel. If you won't tell Reginald, then at least tell Matthew!"

"Matthew has enough to worry about with his studies. He does not need any more placed on his shoulders right now."

"And you think by NOT telling him he will stop worrying…think everything is fine and go back to school as if this entire incident never happened?" the doctor questioned, crossing his arms in frustration.

"I will explain that, due to my age, I have to be a bit more careful," she explained simply.

The doctor threw his hands up in the air and let them fall to his sides. "And what of his questioning why you refuse to tell Reginald?"

"Matthew understands that I do not wish to worry his father. We write to Reginald to cheer him up, not make his time abroad more difficult than it already is."

"Isobel, you are making no sense whatsoever," he replied, exasperation evident in his voice.

"Sense or no sense, it is the way it must be," she stated firmly. "And you have no authority to say anything more to Matthew, Harold. I mean it."

He stared at her, hoping his stern look would intimidate her a bit. But if one thing was clear, Isobel Crawley was a mother through and through and would protect her children physically and emotionally at all costs. Heaving a great sigh, he closed his bag and moved towards the door.

"I will do as you say and will keep quiet," Harold said sadly, "but the more you hold back from both of them, the harder it will be if something goes wrong, Isobel. Remember that…"

* * *

"Mrs. Bingham?"

"Yes, Mr. Matthew?" the elderly cook asked, smiling from where she was stirring a pot of soup.

"I wonder….might I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can!" she replied kindly, her eyes turning back to the large pot on the stove. "How can I help?"

"You have seen how poorly Mother is feeling."

"Yes, the poor dear….is she any better this afternoon?"

"A bit…she's sleeping now," he replied. "But I wonder….you know what happened the other morning…when you sent for Dr. Carrington…."

"Mmhm…" The cook knew where Matthew's conversation was heading. But, she had already defied Mrs. Crawley's wishes by telling Matthew about the baby a few months earlier. She did not dare speak out of turn again.

"Mrs. Bingham, please understand…I only wish to help Mother. And she is adamant that I do not write Father about her health or the baby. But if I am to help her, I must know what happened!"

The spoon stopped stirring as Mrs. Bingham slowly turned around, meeting the insistent and pleading face of young Matthew Crawley. She believed that he deserved to know…but it _was _in the past. And at times, the past needed to remain hidden so as not to create a more difficult present.

"Mr. Matthew, all I can tell you is that your Mother is a very strong woman. She has her reasons for not wanting to tell neither you nor Dr. Crawley what has happened…and perhaps it is best that you simply abide by her wishes."

The young man sighed in frustration and shook his head. "I thought, out of anyone, you might help me. I suppose I was wrong."

Mrs. Bingham strode forward and clutched Matthew's arm before he could leave the kitchen. Matthew turned, quite surprised at the cook's strong grip.

"Mr. Matthew…I cannot tell you what happened before…it is not my story to tell. But you are smarter than most…and if you would take the time to read a bit and gather information from when you were a little boy…I'm sure you will come up with the answers you need."

Matthew frowned, unsure of what to make of Mrs. Bingham's little speech. Was this a clue…a hint as to where he needed to start looking?

"Go on now…I'm sure you have things to do, and I need to finish this soup for luncheon. If you need a bit of reading, there are some very interesting books your Mother has been reviewing in the library. They're on your Father's desk."

As the cook walked back to the stove, realization dawned on Matthew. "Thank you, Mrs. Bingham! Thank you ever so much!"

Mrs. Bingham chuckled as Matthew hurried out of the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Thank goodness men have women to take care of them…" she said to herself, laughing quietly as she began stirring the soup once again.


	16. Chapter 16

_Thank you all for such wonderful reviews! You are making me re-think how I conclude this story ;) I hope you enjoy this next installment!_

* * *

The clock chimed four o'clock when Isobel opened her eyes to find Matthew sitting across from her bed, reading intently from a large book covering his lap. She sat up slowly, remembering what the doctor had told her that morning about keeping her movements to a minimum for the next few days.

Matthew's head shot up upon hearing her move, his book all but forgotten. He set it to the side and quickly moved over to help her ease back against the headboard.

"Did you have a good rest, Mother?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, trying not to scold him for helping her. She knew he only meant well. "And your afternoon? What have you been up to?"

"Doing some reading," he said simply, sitting on the side of her bed.

"Anything interesting? I do hope you're studying for your exams!"

"Of course, Mother," he replied with a roll of his eyes. "But I've actually been in the library today."

"Goodness, what have you found interesting in there? I daresay it's been two years since I've bought any new books," she said with a chuckle, leaning her head back against the pillow. While she was feeling much better than before, she still felt quite dizzy sitting up for any length of time. Though not the best posture, the pillow allowed her to stay upright and enjoy time with her son, something she was grateful for in any amount.

"I've actually been reviewing some things I found on Father's desk. You must have gotten them out while he was away."

"Well it looks rather large. I'm not sure you'll get through it by the end of the weekend. What is the title?"

"It's actually a memory book you seem to have put together," Matthew replied, reaching over for the book. He placed it gently on her lap and opened it to the first page. "When did you have time to create this?"

Isobel broke from her momentary shock…she hadn't remembered the book being out. She must have been looking over it on one evening when she was melancholy over Reginald's absence.

"Mother?"

"I'm sorry dear….I hadn't remembered I made these. You were quite young when I finished them," she said, her fingers gently turning the first few pages.

"It is quite fun to see the old pictures….it seems time has flown by, doesn't it?" he asked, pointing to a picture of a young couple and their two children. "Who are they?"

"My eldest brother and his family…I'm afraid you've never met them," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Well, with him being so busy in his own practice and father busy at the hospital here, I can understand why," Matthew said. "There is one picture I wanted to ask you about…"

"Which?"

He flipped over a few pages until he came to one filled with photos of himself as a young child. "This…right here," he said, pointing to a picture of Reginald and Isobel smiling down at Matthew seated on the ground.

"Mm…that was out in the garden, wasn't it?" she asked, holding up the book closer to see the backdrop of the photo.

"I believe so. But I think we've gotten rid of those rose bushes," he said. He cleared his throat, hoping to keep his voice steady, as his nerves suddenly began bubbling. "I wonder….how old was I do you think?"

"Goodness…I would say maybe two….why?" she asked, looking over at him and setting the book back on her lap.

"At first…I couldn't make out what I was playing with….so I thought it would make sense if I knew how old I was. But now that I think about it…why I would be holding a pair of booties if I was two years old and had obviously outgrown them myself?"

Isobel did not flinch, her eyes never leaving her son's face as he looked down and pointed at the picture once more.

"You see there…I was able to make out that it is a pair of booties…but why on Earth would I need them?" he asked with a bit of a chuckle. He looked back up and saw his mother's eyes had turned away, now staring in to the fireplace.

"Mother….?"

She turned back to face him, and he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"Mother, why would I be playing with booties?" His tone was now serious and all evidence of joking cast aside. He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "There was another baby…you and father had another baby…."

She shook her head no and turned her face away, not wanting to relive the horrible memories…the pain, the hurt, the anger….

"Mother, is this why you do not want me to write to Father? Why you've kept this all a secret? Did something happen before?"

Isobel sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, praying this was all a dream and not truly happening. There was a soft knock on the door and it opened, revealing Mrs. Bingham and Molly Carrington.

"Mrs. Carrington is here to see you…oh…."

Mrs. Bingham quickly noticed that something was amiss when she saw the tears slowly rolling down Isobel's cheek and Matthew gripping his mother's hand.

"Isobel…Isobel, dear, what is it?" Molly asked, setting her bag on the side table and sitting on the bed, directly in front of Isobel. "Are you in pain? Shall we send for Harold?"

"I'm afraid I've upset Mother, Mrs. Carrington," Matthew said sadly, catching Molly's eyes.

Mrs. Bingham took this moment to bow out of the scene, knowing that there was nothing more she could do than pray for the Crawley family during this difficult time.

"And you're sure you're not in any pain?" Molly asked Isobel again quietly, gently placing a hand on her friend's cheek. "Isobel, do speak to me dear."

Isobel blinked a few times before looking at Molly. Molly held Isobel's gaze, not letting her friend shy away from telling her the truth.

"I'm all right," Isobel whispered, allowing Molly to take her free hand.

"Good," Molly breathed, a bit relieved that it wasn't anything physical that was wrong. "Matthew, why not let me speak with your Mother for a bit, hm? I promise I'll be along directly to collect you, all right?"

Matthew nodded, leaning over to kiss Isobel's hand that he still held. "We'll talk later, Mother."

It wasn't until Matthew was gone that Molly noticed Isobel's demeanor change dramatically. As the door shut, Isobel visibly shrank, her body falling back against the pillows, limp with exhaustion and anxiety. Molly held tight to Isobel's hands and coached her softly, reminding her to take deep breaths and remain as calm as she could.

After a few moments, Isobel's tears had dried, and she was able to look directly at Molly. "Thank you."

"What has happened? Matthew said he upset you…is it something with his schooling?"

Isobel laughed softly and covered her eyes with one of her hands. "I wish it were that."

Molly gently squeezed Isobel's arm. "Oh my dear, I am so sorry….whatever it is, please let me help. I can speak to him if you wish or I could have Harold…"

Isobel clasped on to Molly's hands gratefully. "I'm afraid I am the one that must speak to him. I should have listened to Harold in the first place…but my stubbornness and want to protect Matthew from things in the past has only hurt him now."

"Things in the past?" Molly sat up straight. "You don't mean that Matthew knows about…."

Isobel nodded causing Molly's eyes to widen. "Oh dear…" she breathed, gripping Isobel's fingers tight. "How did he find out?"

"By using his own sense….he kept asking for answers that I would not give. I swore Mrs. Bingham and Harold to secrecy as well...I pushed him to this by being so stubborn."

Sighing, she looked down and pulled her hands away from Molly's to grip the blanket covering her small stomach.

"What am I going to do?"


	17. Chapter 17

_And now for some answers..._

* * *

Matthew paced nervously in the drawing room, wondering what on Earth he was going to say to Isobel. He had obviously upset her…but how else would he have gotten the truth from her?

The door opened and closed quietly as Molly Carrington came over to him.

"She's resting comfortably now," Molly said quietly, clasping her hands together in front and looking down. "Matthew…I understand how much you want to help your Mother."

Matthew nodded. "Yes I do."

"Then please be gentle with her…she will tell you what has happened…and why she does not want your Father to know about the baby. But you must allow her to tell you in her own way. She may not be able to detail everything right now."

"You know the reason then?" Matthew asked.

Molly looked up at him with a frown. "I'm afraid I do."

"I understand it must be difficult for her to talk about…if there was another baby, he or she must have…"

He paused a moment, not wanting to state the obvious…that the baby must have died. He couldn't imagine his parents giving away a child…so death had to be the answer.

"Well, he or she must not longer be with us as I've never known a brother or sister."

Molly reached over and gently squeezed Matthew's upper arm. "Speak to your Mother…I think the pieces of the puzzle will soon fall in to place for you."

Matthew sighed, his head dropping in sadness. "Thank you, Mrs. Carrington."

"I will see myself out….but please send for Dr. Carrington or I should you need us…all right?" she asked, a bit of happiness in her tone. She hated to see the young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Right…thank you," he replied, forcing a weak smile before leaving her alone in the drawing room.

* * *

"Mother?"

Isobel looked over and laughed softly at the sight of her son standing in her doorway, looking like a lost little puppy.

"Come in, dear," she said.

Matthew closed the door behind him and came to sit in the chair beside his mother's bed. She reached out her hand to him and he took it, albeit tentatively.

"Mother, I…"

She squeezed his hand gently, interrupting him. "My dear, I am not upset with you, and I will not have you apologizing."

"But I…"

"No, Matthew, I must insist. It is my own fault that you found out in this way….and I cannot blame you for wanting to know more information. You are old enough, though I do dread admitting that you're growing up," she said with a small smile.

He held tighter to her hand and nodded. "You _can_ trust me, Mother."

"I know that…and I am sorry for worrying you over this…it was unfair and selfish of me."

"You are _anything _but selfish…if anything, you care too much about Father and I and not enough about yourself!"

She nodded, looking down and clasping her hands together in her lap. He moved the chair forward a few inches and then waited silently, heeding Molly Carrington's suggestion of being gentle with his mother's emotions.

Isobel took a few deep breaths, not knowing where exactly to start. The best place, she supposed, was to answer his last question.

"You asked earlier if there was another baby…"

She looked over at him, and he nodded, pressing his lips together to keep silent. He had multiple questions running through his mind but knew he needed to give her time if she was to open up to him.

"There was…you were about two in that picture, and we were expecting another child in fall that same year. And when you were five…almost six….another baby was on the way," she said quietly, so quiet he had to strain to hear her.

"There were two babies?" he asked, the shock evident in his voice.

She nodded silently as her fingers began to play with the edge of the blanket. It took her a few moments, but she finally gathered enough courage to continue on.

"You were very excited the first time…we knew you did not understand much, but you longed for a playmate," she said, offering him a small smile. "That picture with the booties…that was the day we told you that you would be a big brother."

A tear rolled out of the corner of her eye. She wiped it away quickly, shaking her head in frustration. "Your Father and Dr. Carrington did all they could, but the baby came almost two months early and was far too small. A month or so after we lost her, you stopped asking when the baby would arrive and being so young, I assumed you would not remember."

"You assumed correctly," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I don't remember..."

Isobel nodded. "And that is why we never told you I was expecting again…not wanting to get your hopes up when you wouldn't even recall the first time. Dr. Carrington warned us that it could be a difficult pregnancy…"

She looked away, not wanting to see the look of care and pity across his face.

"You weren't even here when it happened…you had gone on holiday to your grandparents. By the time you returned, I was allowed out of bed and could care for you as if nothing had ever happened."

"I remember going to Grandmother and Grandfather Crawley's. But…surely, I would have understood at that age that you were expecting…" he stated hesitantly.

She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. "No…no, I was hardly three months along. I had what they call a miscarriage. We didn't want to tell anyone in case something happened…and it did…so your father and I just kept the truth quiet."

His heart broke, knowing how much pain his mother must have gone through…not just physically but most of all, emotionally. Tentatively, he moved to sit on the side of the bed, hoping his presence would be somewhat of a comfort to her.

"So, there you have it," she said simply, sniffing back a few tears, straightening her back against the headboard and looking over at her son. "I did not want to unnecessarily worry your Father…knowing what happened in the past and how unlikely it will be that….that this child is born. And that is why I have not told him."

"Mother…I….I don't know what to say," Matthew answered, his head hanging down in shame. "I see now why you did not want me to know…I'm sorry to have pushed you so vehemently to…."

"Matthew…please," Isobel said, leaning forward a bit to cup his cheek with her hand. "I was the one who should have told you what happened before. You've done nothing more than worry for me, and for that, I will be forever grateful."

She rubbed her thumb up and down his cheek before allowing her hand to fall to his shoulder. "Now…if you choose to tell your Father, I cannot stop you."

"I won't…not unless you want me to," he replied firmly. She leaned back and clasped her hands together in her lap once more.

"You are right…as are the Carringtons and Mrs. Bingham…your Father should be told." Her hands came up to rest on the small bump underneath the covers, suddenly feeling very nervous. "I suppose I should write to him…"

"Does he have leave any time soon?"

"I'm afraid not."

"But Father will remember what happened before...surely he will understand the need to be here to help you."

"My dear, it is not a question of your Father wanting or not wanting to be here. Unfortunately, many men in the army cannot be at home when their wives are expecting."

"But this is not a typical situation, Mother," Matthew argued, though he did his best to watch that his tone of voice was not overly sharp.

"I know," she answered. "I will think about it…but if you choose to tell him, I will not be angry with you."

"I only want the best for you. But it is your decision to make, not mine. And I will respect your wishes….whatever they may be," he replied.

He could see tears welling in her eyes as she quickly looked away, not wanting him to see her break down. She did not dare let him see how weak she truly was...it would only cause him greater concern.

Thinking it best to leave her rest, he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek before standing.

"You should rest. It has been a long day. We can talk more in the morning."

She smiled up at her son, knowing he was doing all he could to keep her comfortable and calm. "Thank you, Matthew. I would like that."

"Shall I send up Mrs. Bingham with anything for you?"

"No…I will be fine. Matthew…I am so very sorry for…"

"Mother, it is forgotten," he interjected, giving her one more kiss on the cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, my dear….and Matthew?"

He stopped from leaving and turned back to face her. "Yes?"

"Thank you…thank you for being here."

His face broke in to a smile as he reached for the door knob. "Sleep well."

Silence enveloped Isobel Crawley once more as the door shut behind her son. Having jumped one hurdle, she now had to decide whether or not to tell her husband he might be a Father again. But should she allow herself to believe this baby may actually survive to live a long and fulfilled life?

It was that question that tormented Isobel Crawley the rest of the night.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Two Weeks Later, early June 1901**_

"You're sure about tomorrow, ma'am? I will only be away a few hours, but I'm happy to ask Mrs. …"

"You will do no such thing," Isobel replied, her face set as she regarded Mrs. Bingham across the yard. "Mrs. Bingham, I have been out of bed for over a week and you deserve some time away from this house. I want you to go and enjoy yourself."

Mrs. Bingham sighed. "But if something were to happen…"

"Which it will not," Isobel answered with a smile. She set her book to the side and stood slowly, coming over to take the sheet out of Mrs. Bingham's hands. The cook made to stop her but Isobel shook her head. "I am not going to live as though I am going to break at any moment. And I don't expect to be treated as such…though I can never thank you enough for the great help you have been over these past months."

"But Mrs. Crawley, Dr. Carrington said you should still rest and…"

"Rest, yes. Not stay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, right?" Isobel asked, winking at the cook as she finished hanging the sheet from the line and moved to pull another from the laundry basket.

"Mrs. Crawley, please let me finish that," Mrs. Bingham pleaded.

Isobel hung the towel with a sigh before turning to Mrs. Bingham.

"Dear Mrs. Bingham, you must let me help with some of this housework. There are only a few pieces left to hang and as it is such a nice day, why don't I see to them while you get back to the broth you had on the stove, hmm? I promise to sit right back down in that chair and read my book when I'm through. I won't even try to bring the basket in without your help."

Isobel saw the worry play out on the cook's face but smiled to her in reassurance, squeezing the woman's arms gently.

"I'll be just fine. I promise. You can see me from that window right there," Isobel reminded her, pointing towards the back of the house.

Finally, though still with some trepidation, the cook agreed and set off for the house. She made sure to take a long look back at Isobel before closing the door to the kitchen. The younger woman did seem to be moving easily, though still a bit slower than her normal pace. But, Dr. Carrington had advised Isobel to keep her activities limited and calm. Mrs. Bingham just hoped that this was Isobel heeding the doctor's advice, rather than her not feeling well again.

Isobel hummed to herself as she finished hanging the laundry on the line. This was the first she had been outside in what seemed like weeks, and the sunshine and warmth seemed to be helping her mood drastically. Since being allowed out of bed, she had been so focused on doing what Dr. Carrington said, she'd not had time to miss Matthew or Reginald. But letters had come two days ago from both of them, and she'd since been worrying over Matthew's final exams and Reginald's whereabouts. She was grateful for this beautiful day and a bit of housework to get her mind on happier things for the time being.

She finished in less than ten minutes and moved back to pick up her book. She looked up towards the window and waved, seeing Mrs. Bingham peering out at her anxiously. Mrs. Bingham waved back, visibly relieved, and Isobel could not help but chuckle. She turned to sit down again but the basket in the middle of the yard was calling to be moved out of the way.

She knew she had promised not to move it, but seeing as there was no longer any laundry in it, it was not heavy and would be quite easy to lift.

Isobel set her book down and glanced back at the window, seeing Mrs. Bingham was no longer there. Quickly, she moved over and picked up the basket, bringing it to the back porch and hurrying back towards her chair, hoping she would not be caught by Mrs. Bingham's watchful eyes.

Grinning at her accomplishment, albeit a small one, she patted the tiny bump now evident beneath her light blue shirt before sitting down to her book once more.

"I'd say that was a job well done, little one," she whispered softly, opening her book and allowing one hand to gently rest on her abdomen.

But her hopes to get through another chapter of her book were all for not as the warm sun soon lulled her to sleep. Mrs. Bingham found her this way an hour later, smiling down at the young woman as she quietly took the book from her hands. She hurried inside to gather a throw from the sitting room and went out to cover Isobel's lap with the blanket.

The cook made sure all seemed well before heading back inside to finish dinner. She had just finished setting the table when she heard a door open almost a half hour later.

"Everything all right, Mrs. Crawley?" she called.

Hearing nothing in response, her anxiety heightened and she moved towards the door to the kitchen.

"Mrs. Bingham."

The cook stopped short, turning immediately with a gasp.

"Dr. Crawley! I…I mean…Major…"

The man smiled and took off his hat. "No need for formalities here, Mrs. Bingham. It is good to see you."

The cook took a moment to gather her composure and respond. "What a surprise this is! Mrs. Crawley will be so glad to see you!"

"I do hope so. Is she still at the hospital?"

_So she hasn't told him,_ Mrs. Bingham thought. "No sir…she was just out back reading, I believe."

"Goodness, Harold Carrington letting one of his nurses off early? I'll have to discuss that with him," he replied with a wink, kissing the cook on the cheek before moving through the kitchen to the back door.

He opened the door and turned back, putting a finger to his lips to tell Mrs. Bingham he wanted this to be a surprise. She nodded and clasped her hands together in delight as he closed the door behind him. The cook quickly moved to the window, hoping that both Mrs. AND Dr. Crawley would appreciate the surprise they were about to receive.


	19. Chapter 19

Six months….six long, arduous months since he had last seen her. And yet it seemed as if no time had passed…she was still just as beautiful as when he'd last laid eyes on her.

Now, standing in front of her while she slept peacefully, he could not help but look her over, wanting to remember every detail and feature that he valued most. He would etch them in his memory…for he never wanted to forget her nor how much he loved her. He had seen too much the past year…too many men lost…leaving their wives and children with nothing…and he vowed he would not leave Isobel and Matthew in such a state.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, standing back up and smiling down at her….waiting.

Isobel's eyes blinked a few times as she looked from side to side, trying to remember where she was. Seeing the blanket laying over her lap, she realized she must have been asleep for quite some time. Poor Mrs. Bingham was probably worried she had been out for too long, but no matter. She would go in now and reassure her that she was feeling much better after her rest.

She pushed the blanket aside and moved to stand when she felt a strong hand on her arm.

"Allow me."

She stumbled, her grip on the chair going weak as she looked in to the loving eyes of her husband.

"Reginald…"

She sat again, her hands now shaking and voice lost to shock. Reginald's smile widened as he put his other hand on her opposite shoulder, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers in a sound kiss.

"How…what….you're here," she finally managed to say, her arms encircling his neck and squeezing him tight.

He chuckled as she buried her face in his neck. "Yes, I'm here," he whispered, before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her up, holding her tight against his core.

Neither wanted to let the other go, but Reginald thought it best to allow the shock to wear off and to set her on solid ground for a few moments. He gently lowered her down so her feet were steady before pulling back and taking her face in his hands.

"I have missed you, Isobel," he said genuinely, kissing her forehead, "…so very much."

"And I you," she replied with tears in her eyes. She placed her hands over his. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I didn't know until two days ago. We have a young physician helping for a few weeks before he is transferred to a different field hospital. The General feels he is capable of handling the men for a week or so while I am away."

A tear ran down Isobel's cheek as her eyes lit up. "I am so glad," she whispered.

He pulled her in to a tight hug once more. "I wish it were longer….but I told him one day would make all the difference. And he agreed to a week."

She couldn't seem to think straight and wondered if this was real or if she was dreaming. It wasn't until he pulled back and reached down for her hands that she knew her Reginald was actually home.

"I am so grateful to your General…do tell him that," she said with a small laugh.

But Reginald remained silent, his hands now squeezing hers tight. She looked up from their entwined fingers to search his face, wondering what was wrong as a look of concern crossed his features.

"Reginald…darling, what is it?" she asked. She tried to catch his eyes, but he seemed completely focused on something else. Shell shock…or perhaps worry over something back at the field hospital?

His eyes finally met hers, and she silently questioned what was wrong. She gasped slightly as his hands came to rest on her stomach.

"Isobel…are you…are you pregnant?" he asked softly. His eyes never left hers, though she could see them beginning to moisten. Was he happy…angry…afraid…?

She nodded and looked down, biting her bottom lip in fear of his reaction.

"Isobel, look at me…please…"

His fingers began to massage her sides as she dared her eyes to meet his once more. His touch felt so familiar, so safe, and it was not until now that she realized just how much she had missed him.

"I love you," he stated firmly, "and I am so happy…so happy that I would swing you around this entire yard if I wasn't afraid I would hurt you!"

Relief washed over her as he laughed out loud and gathered her in what could only be called a bear hug. Not letting her go, he brought one hand to rest on the side of her abdomen and whispered in her ear, "I'll keep you both safe…I promise you that."

"I am so glad you're here," she said, pulling back and kissing him softly. "Or should I say…we are."


	20. Chapter 20

"You're awake early, sir! Might I get you anything?" Mrs. Bingham asked, finding Reginald Crawley in the library at half past four the next morning.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Bingham. I've already made some tea…I do hope you don't mind my using the kettle," he said, standing to acknowledge her presence.

She waved for him to sit back down while she placed a few extra logs in the wood pile. "Not at all. I am surprised to find you up at this hour, I must say. I'd have thought your first night home you would sleep the day away."

"If only I could," he replied solemnly, taking a sip of tea before turning back to his newspaper.

The cook had noticed the grim look on his face when she'd entered and could only imagine the horrors he had endured during his time abroad. She wished being at home would take the memories away but being a proud man deeply passionate about his work, Mrs. Bingham knew Reginald Crawley would not soon forget the dreadful details of the Boer War.

She was about to leave, when Reginald stood suddenly. "Mrs. Bingham! Might I ask you to stay a moment?"

"Of course, sir. How can I help?"

"Do sit, please. I would like a word before Mrs. Crawley wakes for the day."

The cook nodded and though she wouldn't normally sit on the family's furniture, she knew this was going to be a lengthy conversation. She took a few steps over and sat on the chair he motioned towards, clasping her hands together nervously. Would Mrs. Crawley really want her to detail all that had happened?

"I do not want to put you on the spot, Mrs. Bingham…merely to inquire as to how Mrs. Crawley has been faring. You are one of the few who is aware of….well…the past…and I want to do all I can to make sure that does not happen again."

He sat across from her and smiled genuinely, helping to calm her nerves some.

"She is very lucky to have you caring about her, sir."

"I'm not so sure about that. But I do want to thank you, Mrs. Bingham. I know having you here has been a great help with Mr. Matthew and I being away."

"I am very happy to be here," she replied honestly, "and I'm happy to help in any way that either you or Mrs. Crawley need."

He nodded and sat back in his chair, thinking a moment before embarking on his next line of questioning. He did not want to make the woman anxious, but he needed answers. He knew for sure Isobel would never tell him, and she had probably sworn Harold Carrington to secrecy as well. Mrs. Bingham was his only hope it seemed.

"As I'm sure you are aware, I am very happy about news of the baby…but I am also very concerned. I can see already how easily Mrs. Crawley tires. Has she been resting…as I suspect Dr. Carrington has advised her to do so?"

"Yes, she has been. But you know, Mrs. Crawley, sir…she is not one to sit idle for very long."

He chuckled. "Indeed."

"Dr. Carrington has been pleased with how she has been faring the past few weeks, sir, I can assure you."

"And that does set my mind at ease a bit. But, knowing Mrs. Crawley so well, I can only assume she kept the news of the baby from me because she has not been well these past months."

He saw Mrs. Bingham shift a bit in her seat and look down at her hands. Sitting forward, he lowered his voice and tried to allow his tone to reflect one of concern, rather than anger.

"Mrs. Bingham, how ill has she been? Please…I must know…I must know what I can do to help her while I am home and how to prepare for when I am away."

The woman sat silent for a moment before sighing and meeting the man's eyes. "Dr. Crawley, she might be upset if I tell you all that has happened."

"As I said before, I do not wish to put you on the spot. Just tell me if I am right to be as concerned as I am. Has she been as ill as the last time?"

Mrs. Bingham nodded sadly, looking down again.

"And her pain level…has she been in pain? More than just a common ache here and there?"

Again, the cook nodded. Reginald Crawley's fear began to rise as he sat up a bit straighter and cleared his throat.

"She's six months along….and yet she is quite small...she would be able to hide the pregnancy if she wanted to. She hasn't been able to eat much, has she?"

"No sir," Mrs. Bingham said quietly.

"And Dr. Carrington knows all of this?"

"Yes sir…he has been keeping a very close eye on her."

"Good….good," Reginald said, wracking his brain for anything else he thought Mrs. Bingham might be able to answer.

"Dr. Crawley?"

"Yes?"

Reginald saw that Mrs. Bingham was now looking directly at him, her shoulders square and face set. It seemed that she wanted to say something more but was yet unsure whether or not she should be doing so.

"I assure you I will not speak of our conversation to Mrs. Crawley if that is what worries you."

Mrs. Bingham nodded slightly before taking a deep breath and forging on. "She almost lost the baby…about a month ago."

All of the air seemed to suck out of Reginald's body as the cook continued.

"It was a very close call but Dr. Carrington was here in time. And while Mrs. Crawley has been doing all she can to heed his orders, Dr. Carrington is afraid that she may not be able to carry to term."

Reginald could see there was more to the story, but he was unsure how much more he could stand to hear.

"Go on," he said reluctantly.

"I'm afraid Mr. Matthew was aware something was wrong and being so perceptive, he quickly realized there was more to the situation. He…he found out about the others, Dr. Crawley."

The doctor's eyes widened but he remained silent, taking in all of the information. He could only imagine how Matthew must have felt….and he hoped that the young man did not resent them for not telling him before. And Isobel….she must be devastated…having to relive those memories…those horrible, painful memories.

"How did he react?"

"He is a strong boy, your Mr. Matthew, and one you should be very proud of. He has done all he can to help while you have been away," Mrs. Bingham answered kindly.

"I will speak with him…to explain the situation further. I do not want Mrs. Crawley to have to go through it all again," Reginald said, wiping a hand over his face.

Mrs. Bingham smiled sympathetically at the doctor. "Dr. Crawley, I'm sure it will be all right."

Reginald nodded, though he did not agree. "I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this information, Mrs. Bingham. I will be paying Dr. Carrington a visit this afternoon. Hopefully, we can find a way to keep Mrs. Crawley as comfortable and safe as possible until the baby arrives."

Mrs. Bingham stood and chuckled. "With you on the job, Dr. Crawley, I don't doubt you will find the answers. Now, I'll be off to start on breakfast."

Reginald stood and thanked her again, closing the library door behind her. He walked over to the window, one hand firmly planted against the wall as the other came to rest on his hip. The information Mrs. Bingham had given was swirling through his mind, and it was all he could do to keep from running out the door to Harold Carrington's office.

_How could he not have told me?! I should have known! I should have been here!_

Slamming a hand against the wall, he turned and sat down at his desk, grabbing a pencil and paper and feverishly beginning to write. He was not sure what his plan was going to be, but one thing was certain: he would not be kept in the dark any longer…and he would make sure of that this afternoon.


	21. Chapter 21

The weary doctor had just sat down for a break that same afternoon when there was a strong knock at his door. Sighing, he hoped it was just someone wanting an answer to a question, rather than needing his assistance with a patient. His aching legs and feet begged him for a short reprieve, so it was with hesitation that he got up to open his office door.

"Yes?" he asked tiredly.

The man turned around, his face void of emotion, as he nodded to his colleague and old friend. "Harold."

"My God," the doctor breathed, taking a step back, "Reginald! Come in, Come in! When on Earth did you get back?"

Reginald Crawley stepped inside the office, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Yesterday afternoon."

Harold closed the door quickly and motioned for Reginald to take a seat. "Do sit! How wonderful to see you! I'm astonished Isobel did not say you were coming home…Was it a surprise for her?"

"Yes, quite," Reginald answered, not taking a seat. Instead, he stood firmly planted in the middle of the office, his hands tightly held together to keep his temper in check.

Harold could tell something was off with his friend…but one could not go through almost a year of an intense war and see what Reginald Crawley had seen and not be changed.

"I'm sure she was delighted," Harold replied, mimicking Reginald and standing beside his desk rather than sitting. "And Matthew…he is to be home soon from his studies. Will you be here to see him?"

"Perhaps. Isobel tells me he was home a few weeks ago….unexpectedly," Reginald replied, his eyes now turning to meet Harold's.

Harold saw the anger in his friend, the twitch in Reginald's jaw, and had to look away. "Yes…yes, he was. He has grown in to quite a young man, your Matthew. And he has been doing a fine job of taking care of the house while you've been away."

"The house? You think I do not know the true reason he was called away from his studies, Harold?" he asked, his tone rising slightly as he took a step towards the other doctor.

"So Isobel's told you then," Harold said with a sigh of relief, the burden finally lifted from his shoulders. "I tried to have her to write you before…"

"Damnit, Harold! You know she would never do that! YOU should have told me!"

Reginald took two steps forward, his hands balling in to fists at his side.

"You know what happened before, Harold!"

Harold stepped back slightly, a bit taken back by Reginald's anger. Though, he couldn't blame him really.

"Yes…yes, I know," he replied quietly, looking down from Reginald's glare. "She forbade anyone to tell you, Reginald. I…I know I should have pushed her harder to say something but…but her health was so unstable that I didn't want to chance placing more stress on she and the baby."

"Exactly the reason _you_ should have written, Harold! My God, I asked you for one thing…_one bloody thing_…to make sure Isobel took care of herself! Because you know she will run herself ragged! And yet you said absolutely nothing….even went so far as to say Isobel has kept things running smooth at the hospital in your letter last week. But the truth is she hasn't worked in almost three months! Good God, did you think I wouldn't find out?!"

The elder doctor hung his head in shame. He took a few steps to the side and heavily sat down in his chair.

"Reginald…I can't say anything more than I'm sorry," Harold spoke quietly.

The anger that was emanating from Reginald Crawley seemed to dissipate, as the younger doctor turned away. His hands came to his hips, his fingers digging in to his flesh, as his heartbeat began to steady to a normal pace. He took a few steps towards the far wall, looking out the window in to the bright sunlight. The cheery mood of passersby seemed so contradictory that he had to contain himself from throwing open the panes and shouting at them to cease such merriment.

"The past few weeks have been much better for her," Harold said quietly from his chair. "She has been resting much more and has been able to keep most of her meals down. The baby has begun growing…I am hopeful that she will carry to 36 or 37 weeks. I know it is still early, but I will see that as a triumph given how difficult this has been for her."

"A triumph?" Reginald scoffed, turning back to glare at Harold. "How can you call a premature infant a triumph?"

"Reginald, I only meant…"

"I know what you meant," Reginald replied, both hands rising in defeat. Sighing, his hands fell to his sides as he collapsed in to the chair in front of Harold's desk. "God, I should have been here."

After a few moments of silence, Harold chanced standing and coming to sit beside his friend.

"The same would have happened if you had been here, Reginald. Isobel has listened…she has done exactly as I've asked. Here and there I would have liked her to rest a bit more…but for Isobel, she has truly done her part. And had you been here, she would have had the same symptoms….the same morning sickness, dizziness, bleeding…"

Reginald's head shot up, his eyes blazing as he met Harold's weary gaze. "Bleeding?"

Harold fell silent, looking down at his hands and nodding. Reginald cursed under his breath, allowing one hand to cover his tear-filled eyes. After a few more tense moments of silence, Reginald stood and looked down at his mentor, colleague and his friend.

"Help me save her. Please…Harold…I can't lose her."


End file.
